We hear different things
don't we?
in the stillness of night...
Its duplicitous silence
speaks to us in deceitful tones.
For the night has flights of fancy
soaring creations
wild imaginings
It exults the freedom of outlandish dreams
It rails in anger at perceived injustice
It damns sins
defined only in the darkened hours
It whispers in fear
when the paranoia of nighttime places
invades the soul
It sinks into melancholy
that feeds ravenously on the dark
and lonely time.
And when the dawn comes
to still the mid night voices
the stage is set
for the sane reality of day.
We hear differently
don't we?
in the healthy light of morn.
