Day of Frige

Day of Frige

A marvelous day,
a spectacle of deep purples,
whirling about.

Unfortunate for you,
you lost your name,
conformed now into Friday.

Most see you as fun and flighty,
a day of impulse,
Saturday morning’s regret,
the forgotten whim.

But not I, no.
I have stayed up late with you,
alone in my days, we two.

You and I talking,
sharing our philosophical ramblings.
To me, you are stately and wise.

Revealing your true nature,
the magnificence,
of who your name represents.

Magical, lovely, beauty,
the name that is dangling in poems,
that stirs mystery from which it came.

Still you with your rich,
dripping, thick purple,
melting me into the moon.

I walked with you many of nights,
unpeeling the layers of my heart.
You my confidant,
cradling me in sweet comfort.

Sharing the nighttime clouds,
swirling my thoughts,
into your stance.

We held each other closely,
two being seen as frivolous,
to be used only for sport.

Our playfulness seemed to fool,
our trickery to keep us together,
hiding the serious thoughts that dwelled.

You and I, alone together.
You sucked me in and kept me tight,
covering me in your letters.

Hiding five in your palm,
blending my red with your purple.
Alone, still calm.

Sweet liturgies under the stars,
in the black night.
Swaying in the pull of the moon,
dancing under the trees.

Our rituals of songs,
leaping feet,
as the night time critters,
smiled with us.

We misfits,
sitting on the balcony,
gazing into the blending,
rippling, night subatomic particles.

Falling asleep with smiles,
waking to no regrets.
Laughing at the memories with Saturday,
who enjoys you very much too.

And you and I,
my abyssal, vivid friend,
we share our oneness in the dark.
Alone, but together.
My mysterious Day of Frige.

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