Solitary-Poet

Chameleon, sensing a grasp, a dark moment,Iit’s pigment factory a protective coat,

Fighting, working overtime, shuffles,

Reacts, removes, reprints, old colors,

Darkens the senses within, tries to hold on

To itself, knows the danger outside,

Cloaks itself in the darkness within,

Removes itself from its colorful attractive aura,

A gentle happy animal no more,

Ready to spew venom in the dead of the deadly night.

It has to be so, it has to hide,

It has nowhere else to be, it assumes it’s home,

Hiding in full view in a darkened room,

Lit only by lamps and shadows.

Lamps and shadows dance,

their strings and casting dark lines,

Sway in the gentle night’s air,

step into each other, cross-cross,

Momentary love interlocking of nights arms,

a second filled love making of light and darkness,

Combined together as a bow and arrow,

hammer and sickle, just meant to be.

A constellation of inter-planetary shapes,

the lamps and shadows are just,

Nothing but beauty and beast of the night,

doing their daily dance.

The floor, paper board thin, ready to crumble,

fall to dust, carry itself into non-existence,

a redundant oblivion.

Waits – for the split beady eyed chameleon,

 to move, inch forward

It’s tail darts back and forth, gathers the floor dust,

 Little mite speckles, Creates mini dust storms,

shrouds the advance of the dark chameleon,

Visible only by its split bead like eyes,

The retina red pinpointed in the darkness,

little fire sticks encased in a black mound.

Jumping from one lamp shadow to another,

chameleon owns the night,

Runs through constellations of light and night,

Treading over floorboards,

carrying and building up the dust storms.

A knight of the night, runs maelstrom of fear, passion,

Breaks up the momentary love making

of lights and shadows,

Now left asunder, burnt ashes,

 traced only through wisps of grey smoke,

Dancing through yet another deadly night.

Darkness, once a shroud, a night’s umbrella,

starts to peek outward,

Brings in rays of light, piercing the dark curtains,

one ray at a time.

The chameleon, once a dust covered night master,

clocked in black, owner of darkness and all within it,

visible only through slit eyes,

Changes hue, melds itself with the morning rays,

angelic as all,

Ready for another light and shadow to be plundered,

In another deadly night storm,

 A story yet to come again.