Midnight walks and dewy grass,
Late nights that turn into late mornings,
And late admissions of lazy love.

Sharp eyes between dark minds,
Sunset and sunrise separate our days with night,
And time that doesn't move.

Just stop ticking onto new things,
What we have tonight is enough for tomorrow,
And all the time we can borrow.

Shallow trenches flooded with ink,
paths worn in paper,
pull me from the brink.

Background chatter and grey noise fills our head,
ten minutes a day respite,
or I'll end up dead.

Static rain ice cold on my skin,
but it's dry at twilight,
in the ghost town within.

On Time's ornate shelves
we will soon find ourselves.
Be it in a week or a decade,
each of us will eventually fade.
But our lexis and our prose,
kept in books stacked in rows,
black inked words on yellowed pages,
of our worth will be the gauges.

A certain peace envelops
The second hour of the night,
A little mellow, a little electric,
The ratios positioned just right

I'm sure this chai I'm dreamily sipping on,
Would not seem as delectable in the day
As it is right now, with its caffeine
Making all my senses with abandon, sway

That's the thing about this hour, I say,
Its still tranquility, its silence and calm
is merely superficial; if you're up this time,
you're part of a storm

A simmering storm, with a quiet surface,
and a whirlpool of life concealed within,
A psychedelic fiesta booming with
A myriad of emotions beneath the brim

Indeed, Silence turns Audible,
Colors turn Tangible,
Misery turns Defeatable,
Loneliness turns Affable

Music begins to make all the more sense,
When freed from the cacophony of the day,
In fact, the night will tune a sweeter melody
If you'll put those headphones away

And listen! Listen to the solitude,
The slow tick-tock of the clock,
The distant horn of a car somewhere,
The occasional howl of a street dog,

The rustle of leaves as they dream in their slumber,
The whisper of the wind as it strolls outside,
The sound of Papa's snoring the sole interruption,
To the fluid rhythm of the night.

A certain contenment surrounds me tonight,
As I bid goodbye to the second hour revelry,
Where my sentiments turned to words,
And words turned into my long departed but duly returned,
*Poetry