Nightingale Insomnia

Nightingale Insomnia The leaves are quite tonight the winds have gone to lazy rest; the moon steals a peak— disinterested, reclines away leaving the dark humid night lingering and sleep becoming a stranger; love making long gone— even to self. In a distant gaze, a lone star twinkles in the far high— hope sighs—wishfully age awaits the organism of morning impregnating life anew— chasing old dried dreams deferred but not forgotten. Weary orbs yearn the coming sun. Maybe tomorrow will sing a new song; wooing its night with slumbering peace.