The wanderers of mid-night


The first rays of the sun insistently knock

On my windowpane to break the spell

Their brilliant warmth wreaking havoc

On the delicious left overs of the night’s bell

I refuse to kow tow

to the overwhelming light

Refuse to let my dream go

Without a worthy fight

For night is my time

The time of inspiration

Of dreamers and artists

Poets and playwrights

And all the other peripherals

Who prefer their own counsel

Its the time to vent

The unexpressed on paper or canvass

Or your inner graffitied walls

Away from curious eyes

Away from worthless tongues

Away from malicious thoughts

And self-proclaimed critiques

Night is my time

Where alone I am together

Seeking solace in isolation

Drawing from my pain

Or drawing into it

Afraid of its companionship

Yet, afraid of its loss.

The cruel morning knocks again

Laying a blanket of clarity

Over my irrational thoughts

Bringing me back to known realms

Leaving behind my precious dreams

To acknowledge facts and make some sense…


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