I find peace in the night.
The darkness,
and hopeless silence.
Where the moon and distant stars
provide the only light.
The children cower in their beds,
afraid of monsters adults say are only in their heads.
In the blindness I can truly be free,
it is the darkness that creates me.
YOU ARE READING
No Longer Blank Pages
PoetryWords spiral across the page/ channeling the pain and rage/ of a broken, and sad writer/ who pounds the keys of a beaten typewriter./ Tear-stained yellow pages/ fly across the ages/ and the hands of time turn/ never back and always forward./
