Night.
In the hour of twilight,
the soft, idyllic scent of
lilac inundates the air with
a soothing aroma. Stars
twinkling, small sparks of
light in the suffocating dark.
As colors fade, losing light,
A veil of gray takes over. Night.
Lurking, luminous eyes glow
like the midnight sun. Fireflies
flash in the night, glimmering,
acting as guiding lights, shining
with a luminescent brilliance,
Uneasy silence, foreshadowing
most sinister violence. Invisible
paint brushes ravage with black
and blues, leaving only ruins. The Night.
sky's bruises will heal when the
sun returns. No wonder they call
it the dead of night. Breathe in the
atmosphere of dreams that gather in
your head instead of your lungs, awaiting
to be played back as you lie in your bed. Things to
be dreamed, but never to be told. It's like the night is contagious.
The sky's pain reflects back, mirroring the darkness we
feel inside ourselves. The very depths of our
souls is sweet and uncanny, just
like the blissful midnight.
