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vibrancy emits amongst the echoes of the night
as slumber casts itself on most these hours, absent light
while some lack productivity, with efforts turned to ruin
my product of activities proves grand by starry lumen
ideas are born, regrets are mourned, and midnight snacks consumed
to moonlit ante meridiem: my fondness, ever true.
Ritz Writes Mar 28
There was an agony in my voice
Unheard rant and tirade against
The world that couldn't appreciate your sole identity.
Life as we know it!
Trembling in fear, braving the storm not to break down in tears.
When billows of sadness roll
Embracing the state of solitude, no one to call.
Behind the dark circle, hidden with a concealer
Bottled up paranoia and scars
Drowning in a sea of misery.
What could've been done to alleviate this malady
I wish I could crumble into pieces
As ashes of smoke, disappearing into a thin air.
Did I chose this melancholic trail
Unable to succumb myself to death.
A living dead
Leave me alone
I can't handle anymore pain.
allison Mar 2
cant sleep because
im thinking I'll love you forever
but you can't say the same
because you loved me once
but never again.
just best friends
always & forever
and i guess that's okay.
good night
The nights are mine
Nothing can change that
Peace, quiet and serenity
I’m alive, I can breathe
I can see clearly because
the darkness comes and the light fades.

The nights are mine,
And I never feel better
While you sleep, I live to the fullest
I smile, I laugh, I create, I learn
After a long day, I can finally relax.
Not be judged. Just be. Be me.

The nights are mine
Nobody owns me,
I’m by myself,
Running my own show,
Just letting my creativity flow,
And my intellect grow.
Ritz Writes Dec 2018
Fought with my own demons
Entangled thoughts caught with tumultuous wave of emotion;
Fragile I was
Clothed in stain.
Found a solace in your presence
You're the home I run to while I was dealing with pain.
To The One That Got Away.
Isabel Aghahowa Nov 2018
i've been turned inside out
by this tender emotion i picked up from the ground
it was wet and was wounded  
by senseless gunfire
i've been bursting at the seams on my marinated bed
i've been swarmed by the hush of the quiet storm
and by the warmth of a soft hand, lost in daylight

my bed
soaked by the pain of an early release  
as hefty stallion hearts spew out their endless past lives    
that couldn't hold for a moment more
for the melody of a thousand moons
crept up on them all on that sunken midnight
that was too close to the places that stay awake

i'm being spun into wool
for blankets that will eventually hold memories
that i will surely turn into
no-man's land
this poem is about being betrayed by the day and by the people that come with that sun rise. I have a lot of moments late at night where i am in a place of utter peace and vulnerability, a place where all of my hearts can speak freely and don't have to be on guard, but when day comes, all the armour has to go back on, just so my body doesn't just crumble to the ground, nor my brain. I've been turned inside out by the beautiful things i find at night and by the experiences and the emotions that come with the night time. It is all about the beauty of the night before the day comes, and how it is rendered useless, until it comes back again.
Madison Oct 2018
There's something about the poets

That leaves them wakeful

At midnight... and thereafter.

Perhaps it's because the blackness

Speaks like artful despair

Pitch dark

With just enough silvery input

From the stars

To perhaps stir up some inspiration.

Perhaps it's the romantics' glimmer of hope

As they hold their drooping eyes open

Wishing for the constellations

To write their stories for them.

Perhaps it's that those who feel alone

Fall in love with the moon

And her solitary beauty

So they search for ways to sing her praises

Before going off to cast their own light.

Perhaps these are some of the reasons why

Poets retire late

And rise later

Drawing funny looks

From the disciplined.

Perhaps it's not quite crazy --

In fact, it's quite normal

When you zoom in on a world full of wordsmiths

Churning out art beneath a blanket of dark.

Because sleep is not our muse --

Night herself is.
BoringBoy May 2018
I'm waking up again

I'm not alone, my friend,

Some evening leaves love dancing in the wind

So as I start to grin,

I know the party starts

I feel them in my eyes,

My pupils' shaped like hearts

The city sings a tune,

The crowds are walking laughter

And as the flowers bloom,

Fortune comes from disaster

Wish the night would stay with me,

It's when I feel the most of peace

But just like many wondrous things,

They love to die when it's too early

The colors may just fade away,

When does a rainbow turn bland

Sometimes I don't know what to say,

My time just ran out of its sand
Pineapple Isle Mar 2018
I feel like I have all the time in the world if I just stay up late at night.
Oh, but that's not sustainable.
Emm Sep 2017
“There’s a tribe called the Morning tribe
And I can’t understand them
They wake up so early and yet get nothing done
Their mind is idle ‘til midday and they laze around ‘til sundown
They sleep way too early and are useless after 10
They would judge others who are not the same as they are
Calling them names and lazy”

“There’s a tribe called the Night tribe
And I can’t understand them
They sleep so late and yet get nothing done
Their mind is idle ‘til midday and they laze around ‘til sundown
They wake up way too late and are useless before 10
They would judge others who are not the same as they are
Calling them names and lazy”
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