Nyx

night's hair unfurls her fingers

over the shoulders of the world

as the earth’s darkness slowly disappears along the mountainside,

revealing those asleep in solitude's corner,

sheltered among the sparkling lights of their lonesome sojourn.

in time, Nyx approaches the dreamers, her presence

a tempest without the passion of wind,
a field of wheat without sway, uncertainty,
a glint of light in a cavernous place,
silent and breathless.

once present, fervent gaze remaining steadfast,
her radiance slightly subsides,

goddess eyes focusing earthward,

transforming that ashen graveyard 

into bed chambers of the opulent.

yes, for some, to ravish in power is absolute,

yet Nyx, primordial bird of paradise,

transcends this earthly temptation:

for how can beauty confess its secrets when there is no lofty ear?

for how can the moon’s revered light vacate the heights no matter the adoring numbers?

for some, selfless actions

entail rewards less than the mundane
transcending any follower’s glance or praise,

instead, for others,

noble deeds are endeavored merely to savor the sweet, celestial wine of it.