There is something about the

Beckoning of the night…

Cloak of darkness invites me in,

Covers over my blistering skin,

And makes it so

No one has any more reason to see- 

Not even me…

Voices fall quieter,

Like whispering snowflakes

Drifting down.

A peace descends after

Noxious, noisy daylight

Makes its dying sound.

Like a hood, I draw the wee hours

Up over my weary head,

Pillow myself in its comforting bed,

Not really sleeping,

Not really awake-

But, somewhere in the in-between state,

Thinking.

For, the volume of life

Finally softens to a sensory-friendly shade

And all those numerous, tugging thoughts of strife

Are sent further on into day…

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