Night Passing Poem by Deb Panda

I let the years with night passing,
To grow, matured by eleventh hour spats,
And awfully, reckoned on beauty-
Like a waste investment of beats.
They welcomed me,
Dreaded past with pleasure-
With their host of angels met-
And most of the world inherits within
While eyes are centered,
on flaws, on mist.
A clash of rain with dark spots,
Slot on the skin of a deadly earth wraps,
Like women bear the massive load of insularity,
Alights her on another night-
Passing narrowly!
While the 60th moon halts.