To Sing The Story of the Night
Are all dark nights truly empty?
Soundless skies say nothing to me.
Perhaps they are only waiting:
For patient hand, or restless mind,
To sow amid the sweet silence,
To write upon velvet softness;
For willing arms to reach out, and
Gather harvest from out the stars.
Does timid silence rule the night?
As fleeting thoughts dance, dart, and play
Mid lights — of silver, blue, red, gold,
I climb the towering darkness.
I glean the precious, fabled fruit;
To hoard, to cherish, then to share.
Saved in my sweet, elusive dreams,
Such grandeur, idle fantasy.
To free my mind is all I ask —
To hear sweet music in each light,
And courage to complete my task:
To sing the story of the night.
I love to gaze at stars in a velveteen sky, and see the serenade, the majestic music of starlight in the darkness. What I capture and share is but a pale portrait of colors without name and music that moves the spirit.