It's the quietness of evening,
slumber creeps, comes to me;
and takes me to the sandman,
that always waits, so patiently.

I fight with little effort,
the weariness, too much;
I bow to eyelids drooping,
sleep has me, in its clutch.

I feel the heart grow heavy,
the brain waves, getting slow;
bed's just around the corner,
calling sweetly, this I know.

Just a goodnight poem for friends,
for fellow poets and their words;
who spread the rhymes we love,
where good poetry does merge.

Goodnight my hellopoetry pals,
let's all drift off to dreamland;
and hope that, in all the dreaming,
it's something we can understand.

Night comes, without much warning,
the shadows fade to darkness in a flash;
and daylight hides for several hours,
like it has done something wild and rash.
Night belongs to nocturnal creatures,
that crawl and creep and hide away;
coyotes, scorpions, snakes and javelinas,
lurk and scrounge until the break of day.
Night is a cover for the very wicked,
that prey and hunt, on the old and weak;
without regard for any consequences,
the hurt and pain they inflict to seek.
Night is the slumber of the good folks,
who sleep in peaceful dreams and snore;
unaware of things that might disturb them,
they think that they're safe behind their door.
Night passes, in the hours we know not,
a time of passage, almost all sleep through;
eight hours of a life we can't account for,
but at dawn, we awake, and feel brand-new.

Out on the porch,
gentle breezes blow;
I bask in early morning sun,
in its warmth and glow.

On my makeshift trellis,
trumpet vines climb high;
the rosemary is fragrant,
against the azure sky.

The honey locust trees,
sway lightly in the wind;
on the far horizon,
that seems to never end.

Dark, green juniper,
makes a lovely edge;
bordered on the gulch,
it makes a perfect hedge.

The willows and a cactus,
share the earth together;
red roses and bottle-bush,
complete my backyard treasure.

The arid land, does not lack
for growth,
the plants all seem
to know their place;
I grow to love their
buds and blooms,,
knowing soon, their
smiling happy face.

On your high horse, you passed me by,
never heard my voice, its quiet sigh;
never took your eyes off straight ahead,
passed me by, just like I was dead.
You're too high and mighty for my taste,
your upper lip, too stiff, your demeanor, cold;
and now, that I have thought about it,
you are too ****** old.
You were a passing fancy for my mind,
to think you might notice me, was silly;
you were after beauty I could not touch,
so you found yourself a lovely little filly.
I was young and foolish in my dreams,
to picture you and I, as two, together;
you only wanted flesh for satisfaction,
another wasted night of groaning pleasure.
On your high horse, you passed me by,
and lost the chance of me to coarsely ply;
and I laugh as I recall, that stupid, vapid day,
you rode by, not looking, on your merry way.

She speaks of love,
what little she's had;
her words echo,
lost, alone, and sad.
Why do not the Gods
comfort her and  sing?
maybe she has no hope;
in what they say and
things they bring.
A prayer is silent,
tossed in  the wind;
and woe continues,
without an end.
One day, her prince,
might come;
and straighten out,
the things undone.
A surprise to her,
and no one else;
dreams come true,
of what she's felt.
Love is patient,
love is kind;
first in the heart,
then in the mind.

My love was like a flower, always blooming,
I paid heed to myself, with much grooming;
to look the very best I could, for only you,
but that dissolved, when you and I fell through.

Now my love is like the dying cracks in sand,
that suffers from lack of rain on barren land;
like wilted plants, that wither on the stalk,
my heart's shunned by mute and empty talk.

Too late for saving rain, the very root has died,
by cold and callous ways you spoke and lied;
some love can still survive, but alas, not mine,
it all has lost its luster and its polished shine.

Yes, I feel like I'm the victim in this horrid tale,
but truth be told, that as both, we surely failed;
for a moment, for a time, it was simply grand,
but it was over when you never took my hand.

My love was like a rhapsody,  of that first kiss,
enveloped in a golden majesty of secret bliss;
but you displayed yourself to be a shallow rover,
and now, for all intents and purposes, it's over.

Mood affects thought,
memories still alive,
of pain some have brought,
with mournful sigh.

Images one can't erase,
linger like a bitter taste,
passing past my face,
such a human waste.

Errors made so long ago,
failure of the soul,
what then, we did not know,
what now, will make us whole.

Ignorance was bliss indeed,
morality was just a choice,
feeling good was just a need,
we never heard the guilty voice.

And now, those days, are gone,
is it too late to save the sinner?
now we know the right and wrong,
are we now, a winner?