Michael Keshigian’s tenth poetry collection, Beyond was released May, 2015 by Black Poppy. He has been widely published in numerous national and international journals most recently including Poesy,The Chiron Review, California Quarterly, and has appeared as feature writer in over a dozen publications with 5 Pushcart Prize and 2 Best Of The Net nominations. (michaelkeshigian.com)
On a quiet night
I saw a dying star
streak to its demise
behind a moonlit hill
bordering the horizon.
A wolf immediately began to howl
a lugubrious taps
and the universe stopped twinkling
for a moment of darkness
in honor of the fallen comrade.
Midnight and he walked
the narrow trail away from the lake,
becoming aware of night’s blackness,
isolation and mystery
surrounded him upon the winding path
as the breeze followed, its breath chilling,
sending a shudder to his core.
He gazed up, implored the stars for comfort,
but was astonished at their minuteness
within the immensity of ceiling.
Life is more meaningful
when he ponders beneath the leaves
of the great oak in his yard,
his children enhancing gaiety
instead of the smallness
that now invades his being,
this infinitesimal, singular particle
meandering in the dark,
lost in the complexity of an explanation.
There have been times,
under the same set of stars,
when his eyes widened
and the folds of his brain absorbed
those blinking messages from the universe
that transformed him into the nature
of all things, belonging
to an existence much larger than himself,
a child of the cosmos, his mind
a tiny compression of space dust
that saw beyond the veil of all things
without a need for explanation.
But indeed, on this night,
the invisible hand has dropped the curtain.
He is afraid to float, perhaps drown
in this sea of black without notice.
He searches for the moon or a guiding light
for passage, perhaps the sun will arrive early
to show him the way.
After all these years,
through all these nights,
dank and dim,
moonlit and starry,
a new star was born,
another bright light appeared
and he witnessed its inception,
a potion, a power, ignited
in the midnight sky.
He glanced upward
through the window of his room
to see the distant candle flare
as it illuminated his surroundings,
fantasies dancing upon his pillow,
around his head,
warm breaths of possibility
enraptured his bed.
Even this late,
his heart buried deep,
exploded and the evening’s black mesh
blazed into joy.