Nancy Imelda Schafer
"The Moon, The Night...
How She Mocks Me"
How I once loved the night tyme.
It was magic.
Steady, sure, unhurried.
Darkness fell and I was at peace with myself.
For a few short months, my mind was at rest.
Now,
The darkness descends, and I feel like running back into the day.
Running into the sunlight for a few more seconds of comfort.
I lay next to a Man and ache.
Ache for his touch that I dare not ask for.
It must be given, or at least desired.
Neither apply.
My body sends wetness flooding down me with the anticipation of his touch.
Nothing.
I lay awake, frozen, but trembling inside.
My heart races and pounds.
My clitoris throbs, nipples standing erect only to the bed sheets upon them.
I have lived once like this.
Again, words spoken of love and desire.
The sad thing is, I don't think he knows how to love.
His words are just in songs.
Oh night tyme,
Why do you come?
Listen to the empty beat of my heart.
Hear it as I pray to be taken from this hell.
Yes,
I really do want to die,
For I have had enough of this emptiness.
But love is unconditional isn't it?
Dare I not say how I feel.
I am just a player.
I say again...
I ask myself constantly, why is it, that when a Man persues me, and I am aloof, he makes himself available to me at anytime?
Calls, writes, and makes a general pest out of himself...
Then... when I look his way,
and listen to him...
respond back to him...
he disappears?
The Moon, The Night...
How She Mocks Me
©
Written By:
Nancy Imelda Schafer
October 9, 1996
3:15AM EST
Submitted December 29, 1996
spyder@pics.com
Background image created by me
taken from:
RUSH
"Test For Echo"
© 1996
Atlantic Records
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