Peccadilloes of the Night
The sepia poignance in the crepuscular skies
The diurnal ambiguity of the poetic gloaming disgracefully condemned,
The innate howling quietude of this solemn obsequy,
Mistily obscured in the Machiavellian vendetta of the lonesome night
On such nights, the culled herd indulges in nihilistic soirées ruminating the forgotten dalliance in the divine rhapsody of the solitary ethers.
The mischievous twinkle of the stoic Moon consoling tender solace in this heartless regime of chasing mirages and defying hearts,
the resonating whimsical hoot of the lone owl preferring to remain clandestine in the nebulous night,
the subtle euphonium of the chanting bells as the final rickshaws abscond in the denial of the night,
the maudlin melancholia of the dancing withered leaves having accepted conniving fate as a crude juxtaposition of the strangled wintry night;
Strangely ethereal, perennial.
And just as the intrinsic cycle of life is inebriated in its chimera of utopia, a lone strike of lightning augured the arrival of the guardians of the night, the nocturnal mercenaries of nyctophilia.
The recondite emissaries of the night had again convened in the Cimmerian tenebrosity of the abandoned necropolis, where societal qualms seldom guided the mundane, where the marauders would be the only patrons, eluding the religiously enforced sacrosancts to preserve our blissful oblivion, conveying the effaced esoteric truth shrewdly bestowed just outside of reach beyond our cerulean curtains.
They had convoked a rare reunion, foregathering from their spiritual exiles in the sleepy hollows which aptly reflected the eldritch ambience of the anachronistic sepulchres, not efficacious in preserving the zeitgeist of the miscellaneous dead, their superficial mortality being the frivolous vestiges maintaining their decrepit residents’ narcissistic homages.
The euphoniums of the rustling zephyrs bracing their undaunted facades, they were the enigmatic necromancers resurrecting the rogue inferi seeking condolences in the final retribution before their intrinsic sabbatical.
Their brethren hood in an unsung camaraderie bearing the prophecy of the collective unknowns, once gone for good. A guardian unkept, a sempiternal promise unbroken till the end of time, they were the pariahs of society carrying the eternal divination of the augured Armageddon behind the superficial lines of the Gospel truth, negotiating the limbo between consciousness and incredulity.
They were no longer the outcasts, they had become a fraternity.
As the somber auroras of the zealous Sun ignited the malice of the caliginous horizons, the silhouettes of the absconding guardians faded away ever so subtly as the peccadilloes of the night again went back to sleep.
