The twilight hour calls out to me and I follow best I can,
there is no other way, I’ve tried.
I sit in the dark staring from the window into a dark sky,
above a dark street I catch a glimpse of my reflection,
my darkened soul stares back at me.
In the solitude my words fall to the page with ease,
my soul spilling into words and my spirit the empty spaces.
I write in the dead of night when I know there is no one round to read it,
those that matter are sleeping, and those that don’t just hit
like and keep on scrolling. Mostly I don’t bother with pixels,
pencil I can erase,
smearing thoughts into a blur of confusion.
They read better that way.
Karen Hayward ©2016