The Marriage of Dark and Light

O city throned beneath a star-struck sky,
How softly thy towers ascend, as if to vie
With heaven’s lamp that burns in silence deep.
Each spire, a silver vigil meant to keep
The night from drifting into shadowed rest,
Lifts up its crown upon the darkened breast
Of evening’s velvet vastness.

There I stood,
Where waters cradle every gleam of good
That falls from windows, bright as seraph tears.
The trembling gold that on the surface peers
Seems born of some divine enchanter’s hand,
A woven spell upon the dreaming land
That bids the mortal heart look up and yearn.

Behold that mighty column, where lights burn
In thousandfold array, each one a spark
That teaches day how to abide in dark.
Its height escapes the grasp of wondering sight,
As though the moon herself had shaped in light
A ladder for the stars’ descending grace.

Around it, smaller towers in soft embrace
Stand robed in radiance, their edges traced
With strokes of fire, delicately placed,
As if the air itself had learned to glow.
And all the lake, in murmuring overflow,
Repeats the colours spilt from every height.

O rare communion, when the brow of night
Bows low before the work of mortal hands,
And beauty, wandering through these gleaming lands,
Finds resting place in every shining pane.
What heart could witness such a sight and feign
Indifference to its wonder?

In that hour,
The world was made of nothing else but power
Drawn from the marriage of the dark and bright.
And I, a humble watcher in the light,
Felt something tender stir within my soul,
Some longing to be part of that whole
Which glitters, sings, and rises to the sky.