What? No exultation for his beating heart
–costumed, caped and mask askew.
Fearless crusader of the careless night,
watching faded lives die out
through twilight’s paralytic hours.
Scavenging aborted dreams,
diligent of rage’s silent counterpart.
Transfixed is he by pirouetting raindrops
bleeding down darkened windows, while
searching shadow movements for internal beasts,
with obscured faces that silence hopeful lips.
Echos of a powerless God
reverberate its chivalrous end
“All is lost, All is dead.”
Hope lying in this iconic hero,
Ardently supplanting hearts maraud.
Ah, but soon his passions will be doused
by the liquid sunshine of a new day’s haze,
not quite day, not quite night,
with only paling moonlight to path his way.
Squinting into the birthing sunlight,
momentum jarred must now recover
— clandestine alter ego tamed,
though there will be reminiscing of its fame.
For now it fades out of sight, to
rest up for yet another sleepless night.