“So dry, so dry, | are the lips of the world. | | The longing for a kiss overwhelms us, | prompting us to seek lovers | in green paper, or sparkling glass. | | But their kiss holds no charm. | It only drains what little fluid remains | on the trembling lips of our hearts.” | | These are the songs of Night | who had forgotten Dawn: | No sun remembered, no day expected. | | An eternal, black darkness | upon a being whose essence is light: | forgotten by time; forwent by eternity. | | It was during such a night, | that as I roamed unceasingly, | a bright star appeared above the sky. | | I followed. | It grew brighter, and brighter, | revealing a secret my soul alone could remember. | | It’s secret was beauty. | At first in a bar of chocolate: | a beautiful taste. | | Then in a sunset: a beautiful sight; | next: a heavenly melody; a woman’s touch; | all reminding, arousing, my spirit’s memory. | | Until all the veils were burnt away, | and my long-forgotten eyes opened… | And there She stood. | | She had a name, like any other, | but it was spoken by a different tongue, | in syllables with no sound. | | Of a beauty unexampled, | yet she was not extraordinary: | like the sun’s light, yet seen in an atom. | | This is the mystery of the night’s song: | that day exists, though the sky be black; | that faith is more real than a lover’s touch. | | For all shall be rolled up, | and put away at the Judgement Hour. | Yet her name alone will remain, | carried on my lips to the very Door of Eternity. | | When even the dust holds the Face of God, | what else is left, but to admire?