Quiet reigns and here I sit, my loves and lives, they all sleep. With history someone once did say, to sleep to dream, it has to be done.
But not for this one.
In the darkness of the night I try to write, for hours I sit in front of a screen.
For some, words they just pour out with the relief of a soon to be desert rain, if only this would happen for me.
The typing, deleting my deepest of thoughts, takes place sitting here on this wooden chair, emotions open, bleeding and raw.
My mind a buzzing whirl, tonight what should I write, remember don’t wonder, keep it wrapped up tight.
The joy of my children goes on and on, giving me so many words to play, to create with.
Or the one who ended at birth, laying there dead, no chance, no choice, no life to live or memories to make.
Then, I continue to think to myself, is this to morbid, to threaded with death or deep and intense, is light needed with this, should I stop writing about the dead.
A diamond clear sky sits with me tonight, yes, the stars they do shine and twinkle down oh so bright, but many animals eyes are watching, awaiting my next new move.
To write about life, or death, that unspoken question patiently waits for an answer whilst my fingers barely shadow these keys.
Tonight though, I’ll write no such thing, no birth, no living or dieing shall pass off these finger tips, my mind shall be numb, zipped up, undone.
This buzzing whirl is done…