Night conceals so much, and reveals only those things that are the strangest.

For there is a time in those hours that even restraint must rest.

It is after that time, that this was written, in hours too early yet far too late.

 

 

a sonnet for the dead time

 

The minutes I take from the long dark night

Those easy tired moments they make me feel

(Despite I know in the morning they’ll bite)

That these hours are ones that from Time I steal.

 

It’s solely me that stands there amazed

My mens flies free into that great black realm

The planets and stars shine down their sweet gaze

Of gods long past; my mask, their sight o’erwhelm.

 

Staying up late

Watching the dawn

A rest from hate

This man reborn.

 

But though all this, I am no misanthrope

For through this beside me, is you, I hope.