Creatures of the night

These are
creatures of the
Night
that I
cannot
bear during
Daytime.

Day,
uncouth, arrogant Day,
deigns no comfort for
their existence.

Only Night,
demure, soft-speaking Night,
broods them
to the fullness
of term.

For the rude,
intolerant brightness
of Day
shrieks at
their unnatural visage,
pushes them back
into the womb’s
abode.

Only night’s Moon
succours them
with its milky radiance,
the golden mead
of the Sun being
vilest viper venom
to their young
tender mouths.

No birth pangs
accompany
their creation;
fully formed
they spring forth
with such hale vigour
and confidence
that I become
but an adjunct,
a pale copy
of their existence,
as if they are
the begetter
and I am but a helpless infant
devoid of all knowledge,
sapped of all
force.

Born with
no blood
nor nature’s yolk,
they feast
on the nearest flesh,
consuming voraciously
that of which they came,
devouring
like hideous grubs
their creator
from inside.

So eager are they
to leave their natal home,
they themselves
chew off
the life cord
that once
bound them to me,
my own offspring
made my nemisis.


image caption: Image by Andy Paciorek

 

About Admin

BORIS GLIKMAN is a writer, poet and philosopher from Melbourne, Australia. The biggest influences on his writing are dreams, Kafka and Borges. His stories, poems and non-fiction articles have been published in various online and print publications, as well as being featured on national radio and other radio programs.

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