Forty Days of Night

 Featured art by Maren Klemp

Listen to Forty Days of Night by Richard Charles Stevens

Listen to Near Dark by Dance With The Dead

beneath the veil
the inkwell bled
the word farewell to parchment sped
red wine of disclosure spilled
to all of those who wished him ill
the mystic quill within his palm
had been accused of wishing harm
his heart had sunken at the news
the drunken lies of lips that mused
of ways to prove dishonesty
and other crude atrocities
beneath the veil
the inkwell bled
eschewed of tenebrosity
his life seemed way too short for animosity
besides, he’d gleaned the source of purest prophecy

the blackest night
had long since passed
whence vessel sailed at halfway mast
to distant tides, through waters calmed
in honour of the fallen
thus, while the skies were overcast
his measured breath contested last
at death’s request
the inkwell bled
still life became his calling
ill-timed demise
nowise the prize
hereby assigned
the sight to write
to fight for light
find shade to braid
revitalize
the beta waves

to die for art
with wild and brave
to bleed true heart
beneath the veil
to lift his reddened palms and say
i wish to see no harm prevail
to live and breathe deliberately
inkwell bled felicitously
appropriate to tone and shade
of love felt unconditionally

to die for art
with wild and brave
would shine a light
through rising waves
enticing rays of hope afloat
with eyes ablaze the poet wrote
admiring gaze
unbroken flow
devising ways for broken bones to heal
in blindest faith a dying race can find a way to feel

the mystic quill within his palm
the word farewell crossed out
the scribe then wept the treasured tears
sincerely blessed devout
beneath the veil
the inkwell bled
a pile of leaves to rest his head
felt home without a shadow of a doubt
this brought about the end of forty days and nights of drought

beneath the veil
the inkwell bled
the word farewell to parchment sped
red wine of disclosure spilled
to all of those who wished him ill
the mystic quill within his palm
had been accused of wishing harm
his heart had sunken at the news
the drunken lies of lips that mused
of ways to prove dishonesty
and other crude atrocities
beneath the veil
the inkwell bled
eschewed of tenebrosity

the blackest night
had long since passed
whence vessel sailed at halfway mast
to distant tides, through waters calmed
in honour of the fallen
thus, while the skies were overcast
his measured breath contested last
at death’s request
the inkwell bled
still life became his calling

beneath the veil
the inkwell bled
a pile of leaves to rest his head
felt home without a shadow of a doubt
this brought about the end of forty days and nights of drought

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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