White Feathers

Music etches out of the black small boxes
white feathers crawling around me, an insect-
gently swivels away on my thigh, innocent and small.

I feel eroded amongst a crowd-
of tittering young men and women
bizarre evening,
the night not starry
the clouds black and solemn
it gives me an air of strangeness,
of winter that's come early,
thoughts disheveled like old harried snow.

We pseudo-intellectual souls, filled with-
knowledge we gather from the cosmos,
but I wonder, how real is everything.

A world with eery darkness lurking around corners-
eyes filled with despair, look for light
to guide us through the echoing night.

A beautiful maiden in black-
next to my shadow,
who's silhouette, I see-
even though in solitude,
I still admire her finesse
that furnish soft whispers-
in the nearby pergola of dis-sentry.