‘Tender is the Night’ - poem

Tender is the Night

Oh, tender is the night

in nihilistic ramblings

under the cloak of the white

moth - Mother?

Oh, harmful is the touch,

in senseless probings

over the plain surface of

forgetfulness.

Tell me, how could I

forget the one, the one,

who was everything to me,

who had a name then,

who harmed me,

who touched me,

who was there.

In restless writhing agony,

the predator raises

his head and rises

above all,

above me.

I was.

I felt the world so deeply

under your cloak,

Mother.

                     Robert Faeth

                   

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