Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The Deep Night

After the evening birds drift into dreamland,
After the fireflies turn out their lights,
When the twilight turns to midnight
and the indigo sky becomes like pitch—
This is the Deep Night.

The hopes and fears of a million dreamers
hang in the thick air,
While I lay awake in bed.
Amid vain efforts to fall asleep,
I try to remember what it was like
before insomnia.
Nighttime sleep
plays hide-and-seek
as the rest of the world lies
deep in slumber.

“You are supposed to stay inside,”
they say.
“You shouldn’t be out at night.”
But God made me this way,
and He has a purpose;
Maybe I am to be
an ambassador
of the morning-bright people
to the nocturnal world.

I long to leap through
the overgrown grass—
The nighttime is wild and free.
I’d hunt with raccoons
and sing with the owls
and admire the moon
with some hedgehog pals—
This is what I would do
if I could shake off the constraints
of the well meaning world,
which is so blind
to the beauty
of that which it does not understand.

Someday I will dance
by the light of the stars,
But for now I settle
for waiting and checking
by the blue glow of the phone
Whose clock tells me
that I have been trying for too long
to march in file
to the tired song of day
When my spirit was made
to craft beautiful melodies
in the obsidian hours.

But every night
as I lay in bed,
waiting for the
sleep that does not come,
I grow a little closer
to throwing off the covers,
tiptoeing outside,
and exploring
the Deep Night.

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