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The long night, one of many.

A person glances at a clock radio.

They are neither asleep nor awake.

They lie there, uncomfortable, restless.

Their mind races away, teasing them with scenarios of ruin.

The seconds tick by, slowly.

The person longs for sleep,

Or for dawn, for a new day.

An hour later, they remain awake,

Unable to relax, but unable to think properly.

The moon, near but distant, full and brooding.

The mysterious glow of light that rests upon the surface of a lake,

Casting shadows on the water.

Shapes.

Tones of colour.

The whisper of a breeze, the rustle of hedges.

The moon hides behind a cloud.

All is still.

The observer walks away.

The car starts to slow its pace,

Weaving down a trail with bumps in the ground,

A deserted path, hidden by trees, leading to nowhere.

The vehicle turns, twisting, scraping against hedges and bushes,

The car stops, the engine dies.

Outside, the sleet and rain splatter, the night wind wailing like a banshee.

Night falls,

The sky dark and silent,

The moon in the distant,

A crescent barely visible.

The temperature drops,

A freeze that hovers,

Tormenting, merciless cold.

Winter.

Sheltering a full covering; starlights
Are on, the rocks are bright
Beauties. The night, a king
Him darker still a-crowding
All on those hours, late.
Shadow's heavy weight
Lulls us deep to dream,
Hell or heavenly streams
Upon them, we sleep
Quietly as they seep
Between the open hands,
Of Glass, the sand,
Between the cross-ways,
We walk always.

Flying across London at night

By jfarrell

Look up, and use the stars, the constellations to navigate;

Looking down on London, at night, is the same.

The lights, of landmarks, vehicles….

When I first flew with my dragon, I was so lost.

But, look down…

The perfect ring of red light,

With a bulge of multicoloured madness below it…

That’s the London Eye (big wheel) and the Southbank area.

The elusive, silvery eel that borders that is the Thames;

Look left, look right, follow the silvery trails and the boats…

You’ll find bridges…

And once you’ve identified one bridge…

You know where you are, flying over London at night.

But I would not recommend flying a dragon over London;

I know they’re cars, boats and trains…

But Karla thinks they’re little bugs

All with with fantastic flavours….

We crashed, that first time, opposite Waterloo Station…

Taxi cab had been converted into a fresh coffee bar…

Covered in coffee beans and grounds…

Karla stood up and gave a flaming belch….

Even the cab owner agreed, coffee never tasted so good,

Roasted at about a billion degrees…

By a 15 foot chocolate bar…

I really should ask Karla to put some clothes on…

there is something

so revealing about the dark.

the water twists around my ankles,

your name twists around my heart.

there is something

so freeing about a sleeping sun.

I shiver on these awake summer nights,

dripping and frozen and I would still do it again.

there is something

so dangerous about the letters night pulls from my lips.

I don’t know if I would say this tomorrow.

In the light
We wander
Into the
Rocky chasm.

In the night

We wonder
About the
Starry abyss.

In the light
We clamber
Around the
Daunting edges.

In the night
We amble
About the
Haunted ridges.

In the light
We are humbled
By the grandeur
Of what lays
Before our feet.

In the night
We are crumpled
By the expanse
Of what lays
Beyond our reach.

Stealing glances, picking little fights

when you’re the only one I would never push down-

you are already too sunk with your ship,

rooted in lonely chaos.

We are tangled because they told us to

and when I reach past you

I could swear you almost take my hand,

there is no shame in this

unless I want there to be.

Scribbling secrets, spring midnights

when we paint the sky open with laughter…

we will regret breaking dawn

but we can never regret as much as we will miss.

And when you’re across the table

I could wake the whole world

with these deafening glances.

I want to tell you how you talk,

how it builds this sun around us and

I see it like a comfort that could break any moment

but somehow you still manage to hold it up.

I want to tell you how you sound,

tired and happier than you’ve ever been in daylight,

like no matter how late it gets you’d rather be here,

like you’ll never hold it over me if I trip.

I want to tell you how you sound,

hands that can’t hold you up at this hour,

a voice stumbling over itself,

a voice tired and messy but I love it that way.

I want to tell you how you look,

not even trying to stay awake,

you don’t need to when these bonds are unspoken and

so I keep glancing over at you,

seconds then minutes at a time,

hoping you might catch me,

wishing you won’t.

I want to tell you how you love,

tired and you’re still better at human than me,

if we are marbles or minutes or just what someone needs

you give so so so much more than you take.