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《 M I D N I G H T' S H O U R 》
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Sleep is a fickle thing,
One that I could not possibly explain.
For one moment it embraces you,
And they next it brings nothing but pain.
It pushes you away,
And recoils into the darkness.
It doesn't answer your desperate pleas,
And deprives you from a world of make-believe.
Fending for yourself,
Is something you'll need to bring yourself to learn,
For the things we can't see is a lesser evil,
Than the things we can.
It chokes you with fear,
Kills with illusions.
Drowns you in anticipation,
Shakes with dread.
Oh how lethal it is,
You may perhaps never know.
But I've found a way,
To push those horrible demons away.
It needs practice and ignorance,
A guide to be fearless.
All you have to do,
Is let those words come to you.
Weave them and feel,
Focus and heal.
Venture in,
And you shall see.
- Copyrighted by A. Y. Eirlys
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𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 - poems
Poetryoh she'd 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕 and she'd 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕, as the stars 𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒅. she'd watch the 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆 before her eyes, hoping that they'd 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒆. . ˚ . ⋆ * ˚ 𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 · · · ·...
