Tales of an Insomniac

Up again.
The witching hour, they call it.
My back, against the wall,
Aches with exhaustion
I listen to the silence of the night
Until a sound emerges, soft and sweet

My legs cry out for help
As they carry me over to the window where
I stare out into the night
And glimpse
At this pure world
That Mother Nature has allowed me to see
I can only hear the crickets
Singing in the silence of the night

I close my eyes and listen,
To their sweet, sad song.
Not meant for me,
An intruder
Upon this delicate night.
And yet here I am.
To the sounds of the stars.

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