The day turns off and vanishes
To leave me with the night,
And therein do I find some peace.
 
All day did I wander for my wants
So I could sit still in the serenity
Of the night,
And write for my needs.
It’s only when the day dies,
And with it, the chirrupings
Of the people consumed by it
That I get some time to heed;
 
To heed to the soul that 
Yearns to escape 
In the day. 
 
It is only when the stars
Embellish the sable night sky
That I find comfort as my mind
Sleeps and my heart and
My soul aren’t shy;
 
Aren’t shy to boil the steam
Of love and agony
Out of their keeps
And speak to each
Other of how they cry and weep
Under the sun’s torturous beams.
 
I sit at my window in the dark
And listen to those who’ve died
Play a requiem for all that is alive;
Underneath the hush of moonlight,
Hidden in the shade of those who
Lived in the shape of their pride,
Lie all graves free, most alike.
 
I will never and would
Not want to see
What these
Hoards of people
In the yellow light see.
 
I do just fine when the day dies.
In the wake of night, I wrote this piece
For in the wake of it only I found some peace.