oh silent devil, cometh 4AM,
the hour of thy jubilation.
I conjure thee, yet thou commandeth me
with thy whispers sweet and easy..
oh how thou teasy me with thy profane temptation..
the way thou tantalize me..
nearly makes me choke on my anticipation.
blind love indeed bestows upon its prey myopia..
alas, it’s no great price to pay for just another hit,
when you’re my opium.

besides,
what good is vision to a cornered desperado?
who is already gunning blindly,
shooting from the hip.
what bad is just another drop of liquor to a wino?
who is already on his knees
and praying for a sip.

what ugly fate awaits a lonely hermit?
belabored by his heart’s convulsions,
early in the morning, late at night.
who stared for far too long already
into the heaven’s eye, into the sunlight.

what would its beauty be
if it were not for those
whom it blinds?
if it were not for many hopeless fools who search for it
and for the lucky bastards (few and far between)
whom it finds?