What is Night?


What is night that I should sleep,

Closing my eyes, and not see thee?

What is day that I should arise,

And not see thee with my eyes wide as owls’?

What is love, that I not take you in arms,

Breathe against thy breast?

Or should I, that I not breathe at all,

To feel your very soul close by?

What is life without thee

That I should do all things in solitude,

Would be existence only,

That desert spent,

A solitary star midst uncountable nebulae,

Cold, oh, so cold…

You are the sun that heats me,

The wind that cools me,

The water that washes me,

The wings that give me flight…..

One Response

  1. Wind, water, wings…thy work is wonderful, John…and warmly welcoming to my day which is bleak and drafty…and here in my grayness I dwell, needing to find companionship with writers like you, and other talented souls who provide inspiring words….

    your poem reminds me of a winter scene in victorian times…written by a desolate one, peering upon the moors in the darkness of the night, while they write with a candle upon a cold table…

    beautiful piece — again! πŸ™‚


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