Starry, Starry Night

Ekphrasis

Dorothy Claire Parungao

Starry, Starry Night

There are times when the nighttime wind

blows a bit too cold, and

my eyelids, fluttering

like butterfly wings,

refuse to curl back

to sleep.

As all insomniac dreamers do,

I rise, slowly, and study

the skies.

Then I remember the man who

cut his own ear yet still hears

the faintest songs of

the night—Oh how

the deepest hues

of his soul

come to life!

Perhaps years’ worth of blues

is enough to electrify his own Cerulean sky.

And all the welled-up angst serves

to make the lunette radiate

so much gold.

His swirling orbs of light

violently dance with the

midnight gale,

And the mountains roll endlessly

through the vast expanse

of Prussian trail.

What holds the vigorous heavens above

over the quiet, sleepy town below,

is the proud spire of this tiny church

housing all the saints in slumber—

tired from their all-day

stance of glory.

The forest at its side rejoices, glows

with fireflies that guide

an unseen traveler lost

along the way.

While all the world is dreaming,

the man paints his own—

However, the cypress bush in black,

slithers, covers the town’s remainder;

feeding on his own loneliness.

I wonder then how many canvasses

have nursed the creation of beauty

from utter self-destruction.

Love Locked Out

Helpless and hapless he stands

Beside a door closed so grand.

Where is the bow, and curly hair?

The golden vase once flamed with love?

The naughty smile, and playful sprint?

Naked, no wings to fly above?

No need yet to enter that door,

Beyond which you are unwanted,

Where Death is peacefully playing

A new corpse, a cold heart untainted.