Sammi’s Weekender #238 (familiar)

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A Poet’s Niche at Night

I sit alone,
here in my nook
surrounded by dark night’s midst,
awakened by who knows what.

It’s not gloomy to me
in my shadowless gray nest,
with familiar walls tinted sepia
by computer screens,

And light from my
black plastic, ergonomic keyboard.

I like it dark without sounds
I couldn’t hear anyway, just midnight feels.
I like them, too.

As I think,
I write
this poem thingy
cuz that’s what poets do,
in the middle of the night.

Look both ways when you sit alone in the darkness.
Mind the gaps,
the things you hear,
the things you feel,
and especially those you don’t.

N – Night (NaPoWriMo #17)

Night Comes
By Bill Reynolds

The silk soft, black cloak of night rolls
To end our days as it marks time passing on earth.
Night slips over us like a gentle silk shawl,
With the sparkle of stars and the silence of all.

Be comforted when midnight comes,
As it’s the darkest of times.
The death of this day marks a spell.
The birth of tomorrow’s new hope.

Soon the witching hour begins as so
Little good happens, post the final hour.

To some, midnight’s a time of painful suffering,
As with the line between life and death.
Find peace and warmth in the face
Of the change – the end of one day.
But for another we live, and then
Feeling recharged we’ll be free to see.

After our true self is off,
Without lie or pretense,
To bargain away the universe,
To have a brand-new day.
We must pass through the portal
Of darkness, and woe.
Thus, awakening of the new.

Look both ways each new day, and mind the gaps at night.