The Night Reads



Night, driven conscience of identity,

you see me more likely than I do you.

Night, serene path of inner peace

and peripheral talks,

you feel me more than I do you.


Pawned thoughts ranked far and far,

flying back to nest,

not short than cuckoo’s dashing back.


Dressed happiness, adored calmness,

wondered mysteries, all and all

swaying round around me,

to settle for a sleep of great sound.


Remorse lively flushed,

weariness sly-stressed  falling on me,

pushing for settlement.


Breaths shed to blossom life is,

of menacing thoughts like you;

burdens me with thoughts of

the still flow of you,

and of thanks-giving.


Night, I see you.

For all I gave for burning sun,

and blushing flowers, and blooming earth,

you gave me back today’s life.




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