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Kay-Ann Dec 2013
The love of darkness or night
This is precisely what I adore
The dark is where i erase my plight
Where my dreams and aspirations take flight
Where I undress my conscience and make love to my thoughts
I don't quite know how or why
But everything seems right when it's dark
It's a hidden land of castles and fairy tales
Where everybody is loved the way they should
and everything makes sense
And that's all I ever really craved
So even when it's daylight
My mind is as dark as the midnight sky
with infinite thoughts like the stars

Nyctophilia - grammatically a noun but could it be used as an adjective?
Ask me how I'm doing and I might say "I'm feeling very nyctophiliac today"
Nyctophilia- it's ironic how at night when most humans are sound asleep
it's the time when I feel most alive
Nyctophilia- it explains more of me than I'd ever be able to
So with that being said
Let darkness fall.
Anthony Sarch Dec 2014
Tranquility of Nyctophilia always
Comforts my soul with warmth,
Relaxes my psychic and releases
Spiritual enlightenment in my dark heart.
Depriving gloom of the light to bring
Passion of the night and desire of
It's wonderful wonders that roam free.
Nyctophiliia term for relaxation with the darkness of the night
Sasha Ranganath Jun 2014
I find peace
I find solace
I find comfort
In the arms
Of a cold, icy night.
My face unfolding the crease
That it wears all day long
But cringing underneath
At the thought of sticks and stones
Ringing like a disturbing song.
I find love
In the whispers of the wind.
I find desire
In the darkness of the sky.
The eerie silence
It brings me hope.
I day dream
In the darkest hours
Right before dawn,
Because I know not
What deep sleep means anymore.
I see colours
I see red I see blue
I see black I see truth.
When the moon comes out
And stars, they flicker
Being surrounded by fallen angels
Sending out dreamy gazes
Giving me more might
Than the brightest summer day will ever.
Within myself I shout
I let out my unrest inside, alone.
I don't just love the night,
I connect with it.
I have no inhibitions
The night makes life worth living.
Sophia Adelle Apr 2015
there's something about the way
the night calls to me
i see the dark skies
there's no birds chirping
and you can't see flowers either
but it has its own beauty
the way the stars shine
or how the moon seems
to know your secrets
it holds a kind of mystery
beckoning me to solve the case
(s.a.)
This is an original, tell me what you think of it! c:
India Dec 2014
And so,
            I painted my nails
            the black lacquer,
            'cos they'll remind me
            you are always here.

            "Just like a rockstar",
            you whispered softly,
            leaving melancholia,
            I live life in solitary.
You shouldn't have left.
Livia Apr 2015
I think I may be
Nyctophilic
Because I love
The darkness

The relaxing nothingness,
Eigengrau flooding my eyes
Releasing me from the world
For a little while

I used to be scared
Of what lurked inside,
But I accepted the dark
As part of me

The dark is good
Just look at the night sky, dark as well
It is mysterious and glorious
And maybe it does have danger

But if you learn to accept
You will find the dark comforting as well
And you may join me in the group of
Nyctophilics; the people who live in the eigengrau
A random poem about darkness
Nyctophilia: finding comfort and relaxation in the dark
Eigengrau: the color black that you see. Pronounced i-jen-grouh
Denise Ann Jul 2014
Let us
teach the stars how to dance
guide the constellations into a lemniscate
bend their chaotic lines
trace different paths for them.

Let me
decorate the ballroom with shadows
drape the night against the walls
scatter moonlight across the floor
feed our guests cosmic dust

And you will
buy me a dress of starlight
wear a suit of midnight
touch me the way you would a moonstone
take me to the celestials.

Let us
dance the night away.
07/16/14
Oh, angel darling,
Protect me from the night sky,
The stars glare on the beauty of the
First full moon.
The sun envies
The softness of the glow,
When bolides crash down
To find the eastern glow.
Where are you now,
Dreaming in the dark?
When you left me it turned off
All the light.
But I don't mind--
I love the feeling this night,
As the moon slips sleepily,
I am left alone.

Alone.
Why can't I get use to that?
Maybe because the stars have their kind,
And the sun has a family--
Why am I like the moon?

The night is colder,
But I don't mind,
Tonight I love the night sky.
Nyctophilia Definition: A preference for the night or darkness
She finds her strength in the dark.
She loves the silence and the feeling
of being the only one left awake.
She smiles at the comfort of being wrapped in darkness
yet in the night, her demons come out to play;
to tug at her heartstrings
and mess with her head.
It's a battle with herself.
She struggles between dreamy thoughts
and fighting back tears
between thoughts of the future
and her horrible past dragging her back.
She's alone, though it feels like a war
with everyone engaging in combat inside of her
but she lies in bed with this thought in her head:
that she'd rather battle herself
than have to face anyone else.
addy r Nov 2013
I was a tiny fragment of darkness, struggling to find my way in the light. I was evolving, and metamorphozing every minute. My particles broke up into smaller particles and soon I was to become a mere speck of nothing, in this universe of light.

I couldn’t find my way. I was lost.

It concealed me in a shadow of pain. I could feel as it consumed me bit by bit.

Pain, I didn’t know what it was, except that it left me in distress and ice cold tears.

The light seemed to fade.

The pain disappeared, and the mere speck of nothing that I was transcended into the darkness where I really belong.


(lunarlullubies)
Martin Narrod May 2017
Nyctophilia

Undercoverism, teenage soot inside of dry and crusty eyes. When the morning begs alarms to die, and she brings that familiar rain again. Some one that unknowns us, sheds a brutal light. Where the hole inside each child's head, may be disarmed across a deck of cards. In an anti-climactic exposition, where aces climb the sleeves, young Caucasian children find themselves in minorities.

Bubbling voodoo-hoodoo, soda water succumbing the Oro-Quincy spillway until the men have wept and every other woman gleans her brow. When we wake up in the poppy garden, when we've fallen asleep to one hundred cowardly clowns lifting themselves off the heap of a Volkswagen Rabbit. On Broadway heading to 14th Street, avoiding the sidewalk cracks via a jog through alphabet town. There are self-righteous no-ones, famous, auto-inflicted vicious inextricably ordinary and sub-par, barely scratching at their own averages, and hardly shaking words out of their id-sized corner offices at Avenue B & St. Marks.

By the shivering hands can tell, of which lowly smoking dactyls accentuate their currish farce, and amidst a stack of newsprint and cardboard, boxes and the bothersome, the most personal stranger no person should ever greet. Nor mahogany or oak manifold shall ever be select, and the hollowing sheath- Earth in her brilliant hues of green should forever keep unbeknownst to any selves heeding their milky skies' retreat.  

The oder fresh, from digits bending, collapses on the archway round the bed. Its hardened crime, it fails in pretending, like a lust in a sand plume, an eight-shaped glass ornament, arenosely erupting in a drizzling circumstance. We call it time.

It is a noise that summer caught on to, a broken heel, running up ways and ways to concrete squares, like California was only just pretending.

Goodness knows. Godness never around us. Healing can't be done, no book or prose can satisfy her, inasmuch as she belonged, creeping up eyes leapt to their suspension. Nibs erode into the conchoidal zone, some pressure to the ilia fossa. Some work furnishes settlers to the hips, cool wool and linen make an aperture of threading. Dreaming when the moon begins to permeate a looming glow, in an arc during achronychal silvery mists, withering beneath this flume of fancy.

Some of the wet cuts a hole-mess into  us. Wethered nymphs introduce the suffix of their succubus, is this the surreality the ethereal vapors make for our nexus. Beasts in a bold way, crimsony gore-dom, comes dominating greens to overgrow in this show.

Water soaks into the empty breath of words wrapping up tonight's syphon. Some hours of the past inside an alarm's sound torture. Hidden by inches, filling up the glass, every minute, every poppy, all the numbers seemed to help her.

Covers that fixe anew such random sleep, brings the devilish horror to pervert absent beeps. Until  the dots begin to close on us, and in slumber we rotate the words to assemble an acute understanding of being sorry for  sleep that will always continue to be out of reach.
Riya Sep 2015
Once you let the darkness in,
It doesn’t come out,
Like a parasite,
It sits,
It waits,
It feeds.
Feeds on chaos,
Strife,
Feeds on lost dreams and
Unrequited love.
It builds an army.
It protects its soul
From the enemy that is the light.
Dark soul Mar 2015
~
                           YOU
                           ARE
                            MY
                     FAVORITE
                         KIND
                            OF
                        NIGHT
                             ~
Brent Dec 2014
When I was young,
I was afraid of the night.
I believed it was
home to ghosts, poltergeists
and all kinds of frights.
Just the absence of light
sends shivers to my spine.

As I grew up, I've come
to love the night.
It makes me feel alive.
All of my emotions revive.
and my words drive
to self-proclaimed beauty.

But the thing that I
most appreciate,
is that this is the time
that I get to you.
The only time
I can see your smile
shine bright.
Brighter than the
gleaming moonlight.
you know it's you. :)
Douglas Stone Oct 2015
Last night I gazed into the never ending darkness of the night
And fell in love with the glimmers of light
I became a god outside of time, so transfixed speechless and breathless
Being moved by its magnificent opulence
Completely restless i was made composed
And realized she had total control
Nyctophilia
(n.) love of darkness or night; finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness

The moon’s light allows shapes
to reflect their way around my room,

dancing,

everytime the wind blows.

Branches on a nearby tree,
tap on my window,
as if asking permission to emerge,

fight their way through the glass

that keeps them out.
Shadows hide in the crevices of
my walls,

as if the darkness would steal

their souls away,

losing themselves forever.
Bows N' Arrows May 2015
Swift falls the night!
Clear comets burn like fins on sirens.
The darkness is silent; hypnotic as some black void!
To find peace In clustering solidity
Hushes and shrieks among the
Raging of this city.
Snow is cascading down long walks to
High crackles and alluring
Roaring of Bacchanalia's.
Drinks at my preferred haunts;
Broken bottles of brew, down-town, under flat roofs.
Budding breeze smoking with boon companions.
Lingers on and on
This ether, this buzz;
Ascending further and farther to those heavens up above
All the rhubarb; commotion hanging in the air,
Till we shatter our limbs among still song.
Late early-mornings and sunken swollen eyes!
Regrets are like dreams:
Something forgotten in time.
Slush edged roads
And shoes gliding
Over Welcome mats.
(Mine as well, It's the weekend)
Get faded.
Cryptic Dec 2018
I'm in a four corner room
Lying,
All I can see is a light from my phone
and the rest is nothing
Wondering and thinking
a thoughts and things
that are slowly killing me
Martin Narrod Apr 2017
Undercoverism, teenage soot inside of dry and crusty eyes. When the morning begs alarms to die, and she brings that familiar rain again. Some one that unknowns us, sheds a brutal light. Where the hole inside each child's head, may be disarmed across a deck of cards. In an anti-climactic exposition, where aces climb the sleeves, young Caucasian children find themselves in minorities.

Bubbling voodoo-hoodoo, soda water succumbing the Oro-Quincy spillway until the men have wept and every other woman gleans her brow. When we wake up in the poppy garden, when we've fallen asleep to one hundred cowardly clowns lifting themselves off the heap of a Volkswagen Rabbit. On Broadway heading to 14th Street, avoiding the sidewalk cracks via a jog through alphabet town. There are self-righteous no-ones, famous, auto-inflicted vicious inextricably ordinary and sub-par, barely scratching at their own averages, and hardly shaking words out of their id-sized corner offices at Avenue B & St. Marks.

By the shivering hands can tell, of which lowly smoking dactyls accentuate their currish farce, and amidst a stack of newsprint and cardboard, boxes and the bothersome, the most personal stranger no person should ever greet. Nor mahogany or oak manifold shall ever be select, and the hollowing sheath- Earth in her brilliant hues of green should forever keep unbeknownst to any selves heeding their milky skies' retreat.  

The oder fresh, from digits bending, collapses on the archway round the bed. Its hardened crime, it fails in pretending, like a lust in a sand plume, an eight-shaped glass ornament, arenosely erupting in a drizzling circumstance. We call it time.

It is a noise that summer caught on to, a broken heel, running up ways and ways to concrete squares, like California was only just pretending.

Goodness knows. Godness never around us. Healing can't be done, no book or prose can satisfy her, inasmuch as she belonged, creeping up eyes leapt to their suspension. Nibs erode into the conchoidal zone, some pressure to the ilia fossa. Some work furnishes settlers to the hips, cool wool and linen make an aperture of threading. Dreaming when the moon begins to permeate a looming glow, in an arc during achronychal silvery mists, withering beneath this flume of fancy.

Some of the wet cuts a hole-mess into  us. Wethered nymphs introduce the suffix of their succubus, is this the surreality the ethereal vapors make for our nexus. Beasts in a bold way, crimsony gore-dom, comes dominating greens to overgrow in this show.

Water soaks into the empty breath of words wrapping up tonight's syphon. Some hours of the past inside an alarm's sound torture. Hidden by inches, filling up the glass, every minute, every poppy, all the numbers seemed to help her.

Covers that fixe anew such random sleep, brings the devilish horror to pervert absent beeps. Until  the dots begin to close on us, and in slumber we rotate the words to assemble an acute understanding of being sorry for  sleep that will always continue to be out of reach.
hannashe Jun 2019
I always miss the night
Because its able to shady
Its darkness continued the role: empty of all feelings
The moon shine brightly when not avoid the night
And starlight always shine
Hugging the night
Honor and Roses May 2017
She was nyctophilia;
In the darkness,
The moon and stars was her Nakama;
She could hear the stars whispering,
And the moon comforting her.
As she licked her wounds and drowns in her own sobs.

In the darkness,
Her room becomes her hermetic fantasy world;
One where her cries sound mellifluous,
One where her wounds look ethereal
Her pain was considered tacenda,
But in that little Universe, she built,
She was rebirth – with each heartbreak.
She is a philocalist - a Lunar Pisces
Stephanie May 2018
Sunshine.
A beautiful sunshine
You said I am your sunshine
You keep calling me the sunshine
While I felt so loved being that sunshine,
You kept turning into a dark night of no shine
Why did you keep calling me sunshine
When you are a total nyctophilia.
YoungSymba May 2015
Shadows of my reflection. I found bliss in crawling on walls freely, camouflaging with the dark and the moon's exposure whereby my identity surfaced.
My emancipation from the mundane. Stay right beside you though you aren't around,I repetitively question who am I? We're one yet separate entities. I enjoy knowing you're around though at times you disappear when I'm in the dark. (Erase the last line)I'm appreciative of the shelter you provide. There was harmony in my resonance with nyctophilia.

You're always here with me. I'm always here with you. Nothing contrary to that.
the lost girl Dec 2016
Oh little blade
Open my cage
Let me
Fly to stars
Oh little blade
Tell me
What this is
Is it my blood?
Oh my blood
Why are you pouring
Aren't my tears
enough ?
One more scar
Right on my vein
Wish it will help
Forgetting my pain...
this poem is written by me for my own book named nyctophilia
nevaeh Oct 2020
i could sleep
if i wanted to
but why would i
nighttime is so beautiful
Ava May Jan 2020
nyctophilia: The love of darkness, or feeling you belong in the dark.

The dark that is where you will find me. I let the darkness grasp me in its arm and hold me tight until i’m suffocating within its touch. The darkness shields out the light of tomorrow that i do not think i can live for. The dark holds my hand as my mind wonders all the realms of this awful humanity. The darkness is okay with my sobs. The darkness is okay with the bruises and scars. The darkness doesn’t judge when you are struggling to breathe. The darkness allows you not to see yourself in that horrid mirror anymore. The darkness directs you to that doorknob by your closet. The darkness directs you to the gun downstairs. The darkness directs you to all the pills. The darkness gives you the okay. I guess you could say I’m a nyctophiliac. You can find me in the dark.
YoungSymba Oct 2015
Your pacing pulse beats a drumroll in anticipation of the unknown
Yet your soul remains silent in cries as an unborn
Singing lullabies in cries up to the highest note
Still you stand placid,as the calm of the eye in a storm

Mutely you hope the transition to your dreams
Is eternal separation from the real
You rather find harmony in nyctophilia in the night because,
Daily the sun's illumination reminds you of the light you miss in your life


Your salty pillow know who you are.

BUT you built a home in your mind..now you wore a smile,descended the heavens when you fed your subconscious with eternal light. It all sources of your smile.

Now your pillow is dry.
I wrote this when I experienced a break up and I just fed my thoughts with darkness,crying deep inside with a lying smile pretending to be okay. I was pessimistic in terms of tomorrow,till I realised The Law Of Attraction:The Secret and realised I deserve happiness,lived in my mind where all my beautiful thoughts lived and it all showed up in my life.
Ace Aug 2022
I'm afraid of dawn.
I wish the night will last longer than usual.
The darkness is the best part of me.
Amanda Shelton Dec 2017
On Midnight Delights

“Into the night we find beauty where darkness finds comfort.”

Nyctophilia
noun
“a love or preference for night, darkness.”

But my heart soaks up the light,
enough to survive.

I am more than this moonlit creature,
I am made up of stardust, flesh,
and bone.

Yet not like the rest,
I reside beyond your wildest dreams.
Where day and night collide
is where my heart loves to hide.
I crawl up into the moons beams
to cat nap on its streams
of leftover shimmers,
as I watch you surf my dreamers.

I then roll you over my tongue
pushing you out as a poetic format.

You are my passionate rose,
blooming for me, and my love
hydrates your plumage,
as my poetic heart feeds
your dreams with my rooted logic.

Time: 12:00am

© 2017 By Amanda D Shelton | The Weathering Poet |  The Moonlight Rose |  The Dark Poet Eats The Night | Gothic Muse 1.0
eileen Nov 2019
you take me back
you remind me of all the good feelings

I feel frustrated
I'm so sick of this weather

I wish I could call you at midnight
the magical hour when my heart opens
I'd spill out my secrets I'd tell you everything you don't know

I'm giving up
I'm letting go
I'm holding on
I'm off and on

I've been feeling like a lost cause
please stay up
I need to see your voice
No Name Jan 2018
I'm Nyctophilia Don't get me wrong its not what you think. Darkness is one those thing that people tend to avoid. Yes its easy to be scared when you don't know what lies ahead. I'm afraid of the dark when I was young simply because I couldn't see anything but when I tried to focus my eyes I saw the silhouette of whats in it. It might night be as clear as what light can bring but it the same thing. The trees, houses, and the other things. Then I realize how good darkness is. In a dark night you could see far greater things than what you could see in the light of the morning.  Though Darkness is always portrayed as the worst time of our lives, Lets not forget that in those times we learned the best lesson life can bring. Its like our future we don't know what it brings or what could happen. What we are in control is the current time the Present. Yet like darkness its the same we are in control if are going to be scared to not. Face darkness until it becomes your friend. Remember in the morning you can only see the sun but in the night you can see countless stars with the bonus view of the moon and if your lucky there is also a shooting star in store for you.
To those who are afraid in the dark don't be its a beautiful sight to see also,!

— The End —