Last chords from the organ dissolve in the night,
The brass Cross with Christ mirrors the candlelight;
A church full of worshippers…
The evening mass ended, the faithful depart…
In the darkness outside a knife pierces a heart…
The night is full of whispers…
Moon hangs in the night sky like overripe cheese.
A woman begs softly: “Oh, don’t hurt me please…”
Beware of the abusers!
Black bruises round the eyes, swollen are the lips,
The face is distorted from all the hardships…
The night is full of whispers…
Deep darkness cloak the arches underneath the bridge,
The pavement is littered with discarded garbage…
A shelter full of paupers…
In subdued soft voice of an old puppeteer
One hears a sonnet of William Shakespeare…
The night is full of whispers…
Champaign and chocolate by the bed on a tray,
Soft moans and hot passions enhance the foreplay…
Playground for adulterers…
Somewhere a mother is turning off the light:
“Your dad is busy in the office tonight...”
The night is full of whispers…
An old man wakes abruptly from a nightmare.
Live skeletons dance around him everywhere.
He sits up shakes and whimpers.
Almost every night’s a returning ordeal,
The old war wounds of his soul will never heal…
The night is full of whispers…
Light creates shadows and darkness hides the light.
When the daytime despairs reach into the night,
Shadows come alive… so it seems…
The light and the shadow… two halves make a whole…
Darkness can invade into the brightest soul…
The night is full of silent screams…
© P. J. Oszmann (2003)
© Illustration created in Photoshop (2005)
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