In the Night

It always amazes me, the small things, they come together to make something so big, a snowball effect, a conglomerate, that can be repeatedly shattered and put back together and re used. A mountain is magnificent, but you can turn away from it, but the little things, the swarms of pieces, that poke and pry and invade and pursue, are so much more foreboding when you try and sleep. A castle can fall, completely avoiding me, dangerous, exciting, totally predictable, but those whispers, oh those softly spoken missiles, painting bruises to my insides that none can see. Where my mind is a stage mainly open at night, and those chit-chats intend and jig, floodlit to an incognito rabble in the dark, that punch in with their tout acquired paper. Goading me to sleep for your intermission, the parts that get exciting and colourful, where I am totally helpless to prevailing monsters, and the unkind and uninvited mocking of my efforts. In the morning you will be extinct, in the afternoon you will hint, but oh in the night you will prevail, and act I will, again.