(on looking at Auckland's harbour bridge)
Lights.
Strings
of lights
twinkling bright
in the dark of night.
It's such a very pretty sight.
It's like a diamond necklace decorating night
or a fluttering flickering fairy bridge.... Yeah, right!
That's where realities collide,
that horrid crash site
of chest tight
death-fright
plight:
night.
Pain's
night.
Falling
far from light
down the well of night.
Desperate panic's breathless blight,
as I realise "this is dying". Such an insight
accelerates my panic fright
with thunder-crash fight.
But why? Night
becomes
bright
light.
