When we feel the night embrace,
We'll sing our lullabies.
When we go to sleep,
The moon will rise.
The stars will smile at our dreams
And the owls churr in the trees
And just when all is as it seems,
A song, like lace, floats in the breeze.
For it is nearly our time--
And this must be precious in our eyes--
For when daylight breaks,
The moonlight dies.

When we make it out,
Our angel sighs.
When we awaken,
The sun will rise.
Though our dreams were sweet,
Now we must at least try.
The morning we must greet--
For the days fly swiftly by.
So we must wake, my brother--
And in haste, we must rise
For before we can blink,
The sunlight dies.

When we make it out,
We'll hear morning's cries.
When we awaken,
The sky will open her eyes.
The clouds will pour forth their light
To us, and all their rain to the sea,
And the grass shivers with delight
As dew-drops glimmer like beads.
Hold on to these moments, love,
And keep them in your mind--
For when daylight breaks,
The dreams you had will die.

the moon demanded our attention
it radiated glowing rings
through a shimmering mist

your eyes were filled with magic
endless glistening stars
captivating every inch of me

the moon had a message
that could not be ignored
despite our efforts to suppress

as certain as the moon is pure and true
there was a profound storm afoot
a downpour

i took a long and deep breath
ensuring that every bit of the cleansing air
became a part of me

i fell into a deep and heavy sleep
the rhythm of the raindrops and the beat of the pounding thunder
composed a lullaby like no other

but, i was pulled out of my heavenly slumber
it was time to wake up and reclaim control
try to find comfort in the wisdom of the weatherman

surely his knowledge eclipses the moon's eloquence
the genuine peace from a lullaby
and the exquisite magnetism between souls

Good night my little wee one
It's time to close your eyes
If you'll but wait till morning
You'll get a big surprise
The sun will smile and greet you
In ever changing skies
For mom and daddy love you
Your the apple of our eyes

Uspal jsem roky
uspal jsem tmu

uspal jsem těla
zůstává mu


uspat
sebe


anebo, samo nebe
a samo nebo tebe

The sound that the rain
makes while beating on my roof
lullaby to me

There's a dull drumming
a music to all things
and sometimes it seems like I'm the only one who
can hear the rhythm.
Like how the lights radiate vibrato violins
and the lawnmower outside
sings opera.
Or how the crickets at night,
with their apparent music
chirp a lullaby for the Wild Things.

The Wild Things
aren't strictly monsters
made of hoof and horn,
but sometimes they are children
with the soul of a wild horse
or a mountain lion.
Sometimes they are women
who dreams have never been
stuck in twilight.
Sometimes they are men
who wish for something more.

Sometimes they are creatures
with no body. Just a soul incarnated as a central being.
Sometimes the Wild Things aren't really things at all,
but songs and stories told to babes
who wander too far from their mothers
sometimes they are just animals
ones we can't see nor hear nor smell.
Ones we can only imagine in our wildest,
most fruitful dreams.

The Wild Things,
they don't have one place where they all go,
like the stories foretold.
Instead, they have many safe places
lairs and hideaways and crypts and haunts
all around us. Sometimes,
those places
are within us.

The music of the Wild Things.
Not everyone can hear.
Only other Wild Things can listen to it.
And as such,
I have forgotten my duties as a young woman
on an earth full of human pests
and resumed my life as a Wild Thing
with my hideaway as
underneath the clothes in my closet.
I could build a tunnel down through the ground
and connect my crypt
with those of the other Wild Things
so that we may dance and sing our songs together
in a cave beneath the world.