During the Darkest Hour of the Night
Nothing was said,
but dozens of black roses
appeared daily on her bed,
she was so in love with darkness,
it was euphoric,
she just called it fate,
like giving birth over and over to hate,
her nocturnal habits never went unnoticed,
until that moment,
when she saw the light,
it was during the darkest hour
of the night,
a ghost appeared,
it was utterly smooth and white,
as if he were bleached,
the girl shuddered,
lifting her hand as if to shield
herself from a blinding light,
her muscles felt tight,
it was a task,
so she started to cry,
her face was a mask,
as she was preparing to die,
there was so much pain,
and the shadows were sparkling
from the light rain,
her life would fade,
then floating spirits rushed in,
as if on a mischievous escapade,
the air was thin,
but she didn’t die,
and an angel would call,
at first she didn’t see the angel at all,
then she held onto him
with all her might,
the angel approved and gave her a strange
but graceful slight.
© 2011 Frank Atanacio