A poem by Michael Madsen

it is not as if the lights were dim
indeed silver is black
and the day as dark

sitting silently in a sliver of ray
the sun is whole again

forgotten is the excuse of night
he falls responsibly
and the day is dark

floating frightfully from that of grace
a soul is awake again

blind from that which is love
the prism of shackles and chains
darkness becomes the way

easterly dreams seek shelter from the weak
running from rain ... eclipsed

Retirado daqui.