Strange Night – a poem

Graphic of yellow stars and a yellow half moon against a violet sky.

Graphic by Estela.

Strange Night

It’s a starry night.
I dream I sleep
on a bed of straw.
Crows fly across a yellow field,
cawing,
headed toward me.

The chair
in my room
is empty.

I saw you
sit there
in my dream.

Van Gogh's Starry Night

Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

The stars
look distorted,
blurred yellow orbs
vibrating in the violet sky.

I’m so mad,
I could cut off my ear.

I wish you were here.
But you’re a crazy cat.
I can’t have that.

Leaving you feels
like a self-inflicted wound,

like a bullet in my belly.

It’s a strange night.
The brilliant yellow moon
looks beautiful,
but a bit disturbed.

Convergence painting by Pollock.

Pollock’s Convergence.

You were like paint
splattered on canvas:
dynamic, intense,
unique, difficult
to decipher,

but definitely real.

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About Poet Dressed In Black

Poet living in San Francisco. I like telling stories too. I'm an introvert, and I like, need, solitude. I find that depth is a rare quality. Someone once said to me, "You're a very deep person. It must be really hard living like that. Most people aren't that deep." I said, "Yeah. It is hard. It really is."
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