At night,
when silence echoes
when all is dark and the summer sky is filled
with stars,
I sit up in bed.
I am an owl of the night —
a curious bystander who carefully watches
hidden from sight,
silent and still —
lost —
as a million daydreams cascade
with whirs of light that faintly flash with the numbing
drone of the television in the background —
blocked out by blips of symphonies
whirring and crashing,
forever spinning like a carousel —
jumbled and chaotic.
Alone in the night,
a mad carnival within the mind
would surely drive anyone insane.