What Brilliance Through Yawning Window Breaks.

In the wee hours

of a night darkest moments

that psychopaths, drunks

and insomniacs frequent,

I sit here quite sober,

wide awake and

killing only time.

No longer consumed

by the bottle

but battling with

being consumed by

bottled- up emotions.

As I ponder the endless

urges to express

what my soul

has penned up

inside of me

with no implement

that it can

communicate with

thus it sends

it's neccesary

messages through

the convoluted crevices

of my mind in a steady

flow to my fingers

which bleed its musings

into think ink from

sharp pens pressed

or keyboards pounded

I usually find myself

able to get a grip,

but only after struggling

with thoughts that

ought not to be fought.

inspirations that

can't be taught

they just flow

from one's soul

and then my

deepest convictions

locked tightly inside

my brain cells,

can only be freed

by dancing fingers

fiddling with the keys

to literacy

These muscled hands

could go on typing

or scribbling for hours

but without motivation

and a strong snense

of creation

I would simply be

documenting gibberish.

I have read such works

that were sadly and

senselessly published

Why am I driven

to capture the voices

in my elusive soul

and bind them

on paper

or In a printers prison?

Does anyone else

long to be the

warden of their dreams?

constantly seeking

to free them

Sometimes my

late night shifts

of pressing thoughts

into fine whines

expose my dark side.

I write of sorrow

and death and man's

cruelty to each other.

I rage and rant at

the fools who call

themselves leaders

forcing us down paths

we abhor.

But at other times

I grow giddy

over butterflies and

hummingbirds

or a childs

sense of wonder

or the rapture

of true love

as my God and

my muse grace

the sacrifices

of my time

with blessings penned.

Sleep becomes just

a pause to

dream of more

words and

stories to craft

You will see

such phenomena

whenever you

are out late,

cruising on a

lonely highway,

You'll notice

one lighted window

in a vast field

of darkness.

Perhaps it is

just the wail

of a newborn rousing

its semi-conscious

caretakers,

or a hungry grownup

who delights in

late-night snacks.

It could also be a

security light

to protect a home

left empty,

or a neccessary

night light

for an abused child

to allow them to see

what is coming

and hide,

but it could be

the cry of a poet

like me

taking hold of

his consciousness

and rousing it

to higher and far more

awakened revelations

that are scripted

with great care.

So the next time

you a see a late night light

as you are driving

on lonely highways

breaking from a

yonder window

remember this poem

and consider that you

might have caught

just a gleam of brilliance

at the moment of its birth.

Then get your eyes

back on the road

so that I don't have

to read the sorrowful

details of your

fatal crash and perhaps

pen a dirge about you.

Godspeed my friends

on all of your journeys

through whatever stories

your life is writing

in your passsages

through your own

personal moments

in time.

This one is mine

at 2:00 A.M.

on a humid July night

in the year 2022.

and now I am

off to bed

my pillow will be

my noblest prize

thus far.