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by Trinity Hobbson The night is sullen. Disfigured by too many stars, too many nights of moons, waxing, waning, pieces of moon, entire moons, they come and they go. What does it matter? A night wind comes up. Unnoticed, it goes on its way. A night owl calls to its mate. There is no answer. The long night comes to a conclusion. No one noticed. Not really. If you are all so ungrateful, why should I be willing to compromise? I'm exhausted. Spent. Bone weary. Too many midnight interludes have been left unfinished. Too many hidden desires have been thwarted. Too many secret wishes have been left unfulfilled. The night is sullen, disfigured by too many stars. And here comes that damn moon again. Copyright 2014. All rights reserved. |