When I’m on the white sand shore
in the world of my muse,
I could swear that it is during the death of night
that the world is most alive.
In a way, it is literal.
Fireflies flicker and bloom in the air,
And the creatures of the water illuminate the thinking sounds of the sea.
But it is when the warm purple night flows around me
When the trees seem like jagged mountains around us,
And the mountains like some monument to a forgotten god
That I feel most at rest.
That is when I find myself…
That is when I touch the sky,
And feel the tears of meteors on my cheeks.
Time means nothing here,
The night just melts away.
Every time I am here, my cold fingers are always entwined with those of the universe,
And as I inhale the breathless violet night,
I feel the comforting presence of a Braille star map in my palms.
When I am here,
I feel like I can travel anywhere.
I feel like I can be anything,
and imagine even more.
So, in the end, I see my insomnia as a gift
as over the years, I’ve learned only one thing for certain.
There are two songs to be played during the midnights of the dreamless
There is a melancholy one;
One that is sonata full of emptiness.
And there is a beautiful one;
One that is a melody made of sweet fantasies.
And they are equally as easy to fall asleep to…
Thank god I always hear a gorgeous, august overture,
When my toes touch that warm, white sand
in the world of my muse.
I’d rather hear the echoes of dreams than nothing at all,
As silence is just the same as death.