I wake up
while the stars
are still faintly sprinkling
the dark colored blanket
that covers the sun
and quiets the people.
There is so much silence that
I can hear captivating harmonies
that are usually obliterated in daytime's
illumination and bustle.
Like how wind runs its fingers through
Mother Earth's hair.
Comfort.
How the river flow around the rocks,
kissing every inch of her bumpy spine.
Devotion.
At night, as I observe,
it always feels like I've walked into
an intimate setting
I was never meant to see.
Interrupting,
nature's gentle displays of affection.
I wasn't made nocturnal,
but nightfall evokes passion
in the quiet.
And twilight
is for those who listen.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
I wake up
while the stars
are still faintly sprinkling
the dark colored blanket
that covers the sun
and quiets the people.
There is so much silence that
I can hear captivating harmonies
that are usually obliterated in daytime's
illumination and bustle.
Like how wind runs its fingers through
Mother Earth's hair.
Comfort.
How the river flow around the rocks,
kissing every inch of her bumpy spine.
Devotion.
At night, as I observe,
it always feels like I've walked into
an intimate setting
I was never meant to see.
Interrupting,
nature's gentle displays of affection.
I wasn't made nocturnal,
but nightfall evokes passion
in the quiet.
And twilight
is for those who listen.
Like many of us, sometimes writing keeps me from sleep.
