N I G H T

A difficult subject about which to write,

To record my thoughts, I need a light

Of dawn, or man made source, bright.

So. Down with the switch to bring it on,

Jobs domestic have been done,

To hand pen, paper for words may flow.

Night?  It comes from or goes, I do not know.

Something called dusk began the event

No stars or bright moon as yet, to consent,

For darkness has no depth as yet.

Where night comes from or goes, if such is relevant

Science surely knows.

I’ve heard it said; it hides behind the moon

Creeping around the heavens of afternoon,

Until just before the dusk.

Then, shadows slowly cross my world,

show how darkness unfolds, as it must.

Crossing my path, I try a dance upon its edge,

Futile steps of rhythm in time and space,

Is difficult for my brain to embrace.

Night has left me now, and gone elsewhere

As dawn breaks through.

I stand and star.   In disbelief, for relief

I close my eyes, and my night is light

Full of flowers and scenes of delight, a puzzle for one not bright.

So. I leave to others to tell the why and wherefore

Of  NIGHT. For me it remains a difficult write.

w.a.p.
7.9.11