I am a night owl–
night dweller–
seeking refuge in the respite that comes at the end of
every unyielding day.
The black sky is a blanket
that cloaks me with calm–
raven wings enfolding me.
In the night,
I am a bird.
I fly off to observe other worlds that exist
far beyond where the daylight reaches.
I am nocturnal,
and when the sun rises,
I am exposed–
a pale ghost,
trapped in the wrong dimension.
Quiet,
I observe the living from my glass cage–
wings clipped.
My dreams are like furniture that make
this confined space
livable.
My hope is a pillow to rest my head on when I grow weary.
When the Witching Hour comes
and I am in the land of the dead,
I can walk through walls.
I can live other lives.
I can keep my soul–
all for the price of
being
alone.