11:20 P.M. Thoughts.

 

11:20 p.m. thoughts!

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Night falls
like the ink
in my pen
spreading in
a smooth flow
across parts of a
snow white world
spreading less
definitions
while softening
the hard edges
of each page of life

Nature is a poet
it cloaks the weary
with dark blankets
stilling their thoughts
with whispered words
of promise for tommorrow
so that rest is found
in between the lines
of rush hour traffic
presidential lies
unemployment centers
voting booths
airport checkpoints
and drunks in cheap bars
looking for a quickie

It hides a dying summer
with multi-colored expressions
shaken from its many limbs
and then edits the brown
and dried husks of
what perished with
clean white sheets of
crystal sparkles
scripted to refract the light
and cast reflections for all

I find solace in it's
methods as it shakes
dangling participles
from the heavens
and smothers the drab

I find dreams in it's
inky coverage of all
that I am weary of
while still allowing
glimmers of light
to set periods of hope
above a sleeping earth

It's 11:20 and I am
collaborating with
nature at work till
my eyes flutter shut
and wander the dreamy
passages it has
granted us all.

 

©-MFB III

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