#acquaintedwiththenight

What do they know of my world?

Their interest, at best, is brief;

for I am a man many of many sorrows

and much acquainted with grief.

They say it’s a wonderful morning,

they ask how I’m doing today;

when I tell them the truth of the matter,

I’m acquainted with the night,

the neighbors think me strange,

patrolling on our shadowed street

where only night things range.

By day, they do their business,

by night they watch T.V.

for when the night takes over,

the average creatures flee.

I know the deeps of star-skies,

the sway of midnight trees,

and all the blackened things

that only a being like me sees.

By day, they see my comings,

by night, I spy on theirs,

so they never see my goings,

So inadvertently, this is my 100th post on my cleaned-up blog. I thought I'd have moved up in life since I started doing like, less weird posts on here.

Sometimes I amuse even myself with my thoughts and inadequacies.

What a week it's been though. I've seen a lot of worlds crumble, my own included. At a point I thought it might just be because of the time of year, but that's only just the beginning.

Things happen. People are rude. Life is difficult. I'm not about to sit here and talk about all of the trivial little issues I'm having in my life, because, at the end of the day, they're nothing. There will always, always be someone that has it worse off than you. A dangerously important thing to remember. 

I've been doing a lot reading back through stories and poems we read through in high school, and I came across Frost's "Acquainted with the Night". I had always read this and Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night" last year, but I never understood Frost's angle until this week. 

He's depressed (a famous poet is depressed, weird, I know). But more to the point, he's acquainted with the night. He can't relate to sunshine, happiness, and most importantly, people. He can't talk to the watchman because he'll never understand Frost even if he tried to explain himself. And when he hears the cry from "another street", he realizes it can't possibly be for him, as he has no one waiting at home to call him back. 

And so he walks, past the furthest city light, time and time again, never finding comfort in a place or a person. Even the darkness remains elusive to him, only ever being able to be "acquainted" with its shadows. So, for one reason or anything, no one can ever really understand what he's all about.

Makes enough sense to me.