They whisper softly of sadness
It’s something more than that
That can’t be felt
By unbroken souls.
Then the sky fell into the emerald sea,
Made man and mermaid alike gasp in awe,
And all who witnessed such beautiful sight,
Would only suffer by the hand of a claw,
No sadness would be worth the fall,
No such awful pain beknown,
The terror of the deathly thrall.
So the sea and the sky became one,
United in the pitch blackness of the night,
Nothing could escape such blunder,
Not even the birds that took flight.
For under their wings, black feathers grew,
Till they flew no longer,
Yet as the darkness spread and flourished,
It could only grow even stronger.
A light, a single lantern, lit the night,
The night it was no more,
It shined brighter than any mere candle,
And that’s when the sky hit the floor.
It came down with a thud,
And no more pain could befall,
The day the sky fell down to the floor,
Oh, such a terrible thrall.
The secret angel flies at the secret hour, the hour of the night that no one knows exists, and the rest of the world has closed it’s eyes for a blissful rest. She flies forever, endlessly, and there is nothing she loves more than those early morning flights. That’s the only reason she still exists. She wakes up, and walks around aimlessly, going nowhere, and yet getting everywhere at the same time. That’s the thing about secret angels. They don’t really exist. The secret angels are the ones that have been downcast from heaven in shame and evil, for whatever heinous crime they had committed. Well, most of them. This one, however chose to live in solitude. She can’t remember the last time she saw an angel, other than herself, but then, she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want them to see her, to know about her, or they would make her leave this place – her secret place. A secret angel in a secret little cove. She doesn’t even deserve to be called an angel. She left her kind, flew away from trouble and curled up in a little ball, hoping to be forgotten. The only label she deserves is coward. She deserves every sorrow, every pain, because she herself brought it upon her. Soon, though, she will fade away into nothing, like ashes in the wind. That’s what happens when people forget.
I spend so much time,
Thinking these things,
Writing on paper,
Then ripping it up,
All over again.
I spend this time,
Wondering who I am,
To judge another,
When I am,
Day to day,
Night to night,
I’m plagued by this guilt,
Of a crime not committed.
I spend all this time,
Saying “What if?”
And I don’t want to anymore.
I wondered, staring up at the moon like this, if my life would ever be as full as that shining rock in the sky. It’s light cast pale shadows over my backyard, and I stared out at the scene in front of me. I came out here a lot; whenever I felt sad, or lonely, or misunderstood. I had just had an argument with my mother and lost, and my mind seemed to be racing away from me. Though it was quite late, the full moon brightened the dark, weary sky and made it look to be about seven o’clock. I sighed, and shifted, when I heard someone in the room behind me. No one knew that I came out here, and I preferred to keep it that way. For me it was a place to escape to, where nothing else existed but me. I guess it’s kind of selfish of me to think like that, but it always made me feel better. I think I just need the fresh air. I gulped some of it in, then, breathing in the scent of night. Night smells teasingly of a new day about to start, but is not quite there yet. They say that night is for the madmen, and the poets. Maybe I am both? I am not sure. Sometimes I feel a little mad. I hear voices in my head teasing me, but I know that those voices are just mine, encouraging me, egging me on. I sat there, unsure, for ten minutes, twenty, until I finally fell asleep to night’s sweet lullaby.
The girl closed her sleepy eyes and plunged into a world of dreams and darkness. The only time she was really free was when she was asleep. There was no better time, she thought, than night. Night strokes your head when you are crying and tells you, “Everything will be okay.” Night shares un-whispered secrets, and keeps your darkest secrets from the death of your dreams. Night listens to your secret dreams and thoughts and shares your excitement when nobody else knows that you are glad. Night is always there for you, through everything. When there is nothing left, when all people are doing is crying and being rejected, night is always there by your side. Night is darkness to lean against, a friend’s shoulder to cry on. Night will never disappear, never go away. Whoever wishes to destroy night, would be your enemy. If you had nothing left, and then somebody took away night too, where would you go? Who would you turn to? The girl’s dreams turn to nightmares, and when she wakes up screaming, the dark of night calms her down and she remembers that she was sleeping safely in her own bed. There is nothing quite as comforting as the darkness of night. When the girl wanted to do something different, to leap out and plunge into the unknown, she thought of night and was instantly comforted. The only true friend, the only thing she could count on to always be there was night.
I wait silently for the moon’s gentle kiss,
Wait silently for the sure feeling of bliss,
As night creeps quietly over the city,
I try to think of a response that is witty.
The moon is what I seek, I don’t quite know why,
As loud as a shout, yet soft as a sigh,
The nighttime noises make me jump,
My shoulders are tense, my throat in a lump.
But right now I’m safe in my bed,
My face a peculiar shade of bright red.