Night Angel

The first time I met her she was caressing soca
To the rhythm of my dreams
And I wanted to have her, to keep.
Saw beyond her endless curves and
Some version of Black Opal’s ‘Just Right’ makeup,
Beneath all that wiry charm and getup
Was a lady waiting to exhale,
And let the rest of her life be saved
If the moment was just right
And the words spoken this tight
She might remember her grandmother recite
“Knights in shining armour
Don’t come to the Caribbean,
We learn how to make Pirates into Kings.
The songs this region sings
Are filled with whispers of war!

As I watched her court the music
I saw years of despair disappear.
Each genre exposing a part of her
The world would scarcely encounter
Cause she had secrets that she only shared with soca,
And now, me.

Angel without wings I want you;
Need to show you where your wings are,
Teach you to fly again so we could swim with the stars
We won’t need a control tower,
Cause we could take off from this bar,
Just hold my hand and close your eyes,
I’ll make a happy memory scar.

I know people like you
Who let it all out to music
Cause you’re scared to let others in,
But you won’t know how fast you could fly
If you never embrace the wind.
You can’t see the beauty around you
If you never let go that cloud.
The tears won’t get drowned out
When the music gets loud
This DJ won’t ‘one’ drop the smiles
And cross fade the shouts,
Echo the good times and
Rewind the pouts,
You only get one play per song.

But I met you at a bar
And a colourful world like mine doesn’t belong in a pub
So I drank my last shot of whiskey and walked out
Still smelling your perfume from across the room
Like Angel’s Dust on a witch’s broom,
Caressing me like you did music,
That golden moment when I met you.
Like the perfect song, or the tightest hug,
I’ll remember the way your head rolls back all the way when you laugh
And I know I’ll have you ‘Angel of the Night’.
Maybe one graveyard hour when the moon is just right,
When I could whisper this poem to the light behind your eyes,
Cause I like variety like that.
And special moments happen everywhere,
In some random bar, at the bottom of your stairs
Or two paces from the streetlight
Where I felt compelled to write
This poem.

Don’t forget I see the nightmares burning everything you touch,
And I thought that maybe if you had poetry,
You wouldn’t need the music that much.
So before I closed the door,
I left this poem on your couch,
So that when you sit,
Tired after a night at the club,
You remember,
There’s another way to get it out.

– Josiah C. Bayne –

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