Music in the night time. Just me and all the words written and sung by poets alike. Nothing is together but everything is calm. Somewhat scattered peacefully around me. My head is rested on a pillow but my mind frantic and the only way to ease this rush is by giving it a rhythm to think to; for the impulses to dance and sing along to as they bounce from cell to cell.
Solitude.
Suddenly I realize that I am at my best when the powerful voice of silence washes through me. Shadows accompany me on my quest in darkness but they stand around me like ghosts, ghosts of which only silhouettes can be seen.
Silhouettes that are mainly composed of excess musical notes that escape through my earphones and travel to a place where they belong, as the silhouettes. As the shadows move swiftly around me, they are powered by the harmonious hum they produce. The rest of existence is shut out and paid no mind to. At an occasional break, the silence that is outside of my earphones remains awkward.
Outside, with everyone else, and where I am lonely, I hear trees sing and dance to my music. Perhaps their scrambling frantic minds can only rest in the silence where there is rhythm, or it could be that they have adapted to my religious routine of rhythmic thoughts and they, each night, dance and hum to it to put their rustling, busy-bodied leaves to sleep for the eve.
And when the inflow of magical music comes to a gradual halt, the trees outside know to wake up and continue to dance in unrest during day. I understand, because I am shown in the same light and only at night, my willow friends and I put our souls to rest and we sing and sway with the night, calm, until our calculated dance routine is interrupted at wake. Tonight again...