My nights are times of power and might,
but are often cut short.
It’s the time my spirit longs for the intangible- the spiritual,
the mystery of dark skies- the mystery of God.
It’s the time a bridge of gold and fire rolls down to the gates of my spirit for a marriage of spirits.
But half the nights, the ritual dies at my gates, troubled by my window’s light.
Night after night; the secret place, the hidden gates, sacred dates,
the minds of Gods and the wealth of paradise die at my gates troubled by my window’s light.
