his thick and unwholesome light
confounds the ignorant and
amazes the eyes.
Light is but sugar over the devil,
unpregnant of truth.
I am too much in the sun,
sick almost to doomsday.
Would the night were come!
Unmask her beauty,
the face of joy and mercy.
When the churchyards yawn
Hell itself breathes out justice to this world,
black night, full of truth, pure as snow.
Sleep, die - no more heartache
in the night's embrace.
-Ashley Tryba, Mary Jane Robinson, and William Shakespeare
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