In early 1992, I went on a writing spree. I vaguely remember it starting because my girlfriend, Emily, broke up with me. I have never really considered it before, but it really was a sign that I sought pen and paper as my solace. I wrote good poems. I wrote bad poems. I wrote happy poems. I absolutely wrote sad, little, self-deprecating poems. The important thing is that, through it all, I never stopped writing.
I sit here and tell you that, and I’m all but speechless. I’ve always wanted to paint a picture with words in the same way that a traditional artist uses watercolors, oils, chalks, or pencils. In all the time since those early days, I never paused to consider that I was writing. It’s like Yoda said in Empire Strikes Back:
“This one a long time have I watched. All his life has he looked away… to the future, to the horizon. Never his mind on where he was. Hmm? What he was doing.”
I was so overcome with the idea that what I wanted, what I needed, was over the next hill. I never let myself stop to look at where I was. There is no point in dwelling on “what ifs” and “could have beens”, though.
With that massive digression out of the way, we come to today’s poem. In reality, it is a group of four. None of them are particularly long, and all share a common theme: the night.
A Collection of Night Poems
To those who say the night is evil:
Isn’t the day with its myriad colors more so?
It hides the troubles that are in our lives,
And feeds us neverending lies.
The night calms the most violent of men,
As he looks into the heavens.
The time will come,
When day is done,
And darkness, not evil, rules over all.
I like the night.
The night with its darkness.
The darkness that envelopes me like a glove,
that gives me solace from the world.
The night is silence.
Calm and serene in its blackness.
When the daylight breaks,
The silence also disengages.
On a clear and moonless night,
You will see a beautiful sight.
The stars in the sky,
And a plane’s flyby,
Will be enjoyed till the daylight.