It's friendly, for a night this black,
it covers me just like a sheet.
The moon leaks in between the cracks,
before it settles down to sleep.
There's whispers on a gentle wind,
I hear them mention me by name.
They bid me to fly with them free,
but I'm too tired to play that game.
I seek a place where I can hide,
undisturbed with pen in hand.
Release my feelings on the page,
to purge my grief, I know I can.
But when I settle down to write,
the words will not drip to the page,
and they remain internally,
the angst I feel, the hurt, the rage.
Time doesn't move when you're in pain,
still, seconds, minutes, hours flow.
The clock hands move, the pain remains,
the whispered wind so cold, it blows.
The morning clouds are filled with rain,
I hope to wash these thoughts away.
And cleanse a soul that still has hope,
tomorrow is another day.
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