Evening

Parks at night have a very different view, seen in shadows of black, white and gray. Density of images are hard to recognize, everything seems flattened out against the back drop of night. Darkness pulled over, disallowing everything which walks in front of these eyes. Threadbare, evening sits alone, not knowing where to go from here. Slumber not falling upon a mind, raging wakefulness instead, keeps it company. Untiring beatitudes stretched beyond the length of stay prepared by evening, awaiting yet, memories of death, never waking to the new morning sun again.