Night.                                      

                                     In the hour of twilight,

                           the soft, idyllic scent of

                      lilac inundates the air with

             a soothing aroma. Stars

             twinkling, small sparks of

       light in the suffocating dark.

   As colors fade, losing light,                                            

       A veil of gray takes over.                                         Night.

    Lurking, luminous eyes glow

   like the midnight sun. Fireflies

 flash in the night, glimmering,

acting as guiding lights, shining

with a luminescent brilliance,

Uneasy silence, foreshadowing

most sinister violence. Invisible

paint brushes ravage with blacks

 and blues, leaving only ruins. The                   Night.

  sky’s bruises will heal when the

   sun returns. No wonder they call

    it the dead of night. Breathe in the

       atmosphere of dreams that gather

      in your head instead of your lungs,

       awaiting to be played back as you lie in your bed. Things to

              be dreamed, but never to be told. It’s like the night is co-

                 ntagious. The sky’s pain reflects back, mirroring the

                      darkness we feel inside ourselves. The very de-

                            pths of ours souls is sweet and uncanny,

                                    just like the blissful midnight.

Written by 7 Cups Lisener: iKat

iKat is the winner of the 7 Cups Earth Day Writing Competition!

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