The moonlight through the skylight
and the night light on the ceiling,
The ticking of the clock, time soon passes midnight.
Why does the silence in the night feel so promising,
Why so alluring, addictive and so hopeful?
I want to steal one more hour from the slowly passing-away night
and fill my basket with more promises and resolutions
before I am led to face the light.
I want to dupe daylight and stretch on the night.
Calm, at peace, at one with my soul I am,
on each treasure-filled night.
The Universe, as it gently coaxes me to bed like a mother would,
promises another rich night and many more such nights.
She whispers of moonlit nights, she draws a million stars,
and she tells me of brilliant galaxies,
this dear friend called the Night.
Promises, resolutions, convictions do not die.
Death is for daytime. Dreams are for nighttime.
She drags me to bed and tells me the day will be bright.
She says when she, the Night, comes, my broken dreams of the day
she will collect piece by piece, oh so quietly,
and make them whole again, magically.
That is why perhaps I so love the night.
Oh! The thrilling, the secretive, the mysterious, loving Night!
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