Sunday, 12 August 2012

Nocturnal


I am still awake,
as the night holds its hypnotic grip
over the unconscious.
I sit and challenge it in silent defiance.
There is no reason to sleep.
There is no reason to stay awake.
I remain in moonlit limbo
playing games of chance
with my deepest thoughts.
If I fall to the lullaby of sleep
I will miss the display of the
ever moving stars
as they race towards the dawn.

I will miss the sun rising
over the North sea 
when it lights the beaches of England
with grey, October sunlight.
I want to view a new day with critical eyes, 
with memories of deals made in the darkness.
For when morning comes,
my resolutions made at 4am,
evaporate like mist burnt by the sun.
Daytime is my enemy for it brings
responsibilities
 


I have decided that enough is enough! I have been holding on to this poem and many like it for months. I sent 'Nocturnal' off to an ezine back on the 9th of January! When you send off a  poem/piece of writing to anywhere, it instantly becomes off limits, it is tied up until they say that want or don't want your work. Never mind the fact that the poem has to be completely unpublished before you send it, some of them never have the common courtesy to even send an email back to say no! So how long do you wait? a month? three? six? Well I don't send much of my poetry in to magazines/ezines anymore, I'm much happier to share them on here with my readers :)

So anyway, that's my little rant over with. I have always been a night owl, I would rather stay up and see the sun rise then be waking up to watch it. I think there is something inspiring about the early morning when it's still dark and everything is eerily still. I do most of my writing at night and 'Nocturnal' was written at 5am one morning a few years ago. My favourite lines are; 

'For when morning comes,
my resolutions made at 4am,
evaporate like mist burnt by the sun'

I have lost count of the amount of times I have realised something late at night or set a goal/plan for the future that then becomes pointless when the morning comes. It's as if anything is possible at night, no wonder we use the phrase 'in the cold light of day' 

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