Night is home to magic songs,
sung silently to choruses of mockingbirds,
set to the beat of crickets and cicadas,
whisp'ring loudly from the tops
of dirt-dark trees.
Night is home to magic songs
that sway the souls of spirits
in the sylvan glade.
Where all the children of the night
from moths to beasts of fur
sway to that ancient waltz of life
in syncopation to the heartbeat of the earth.
Night is home to magic songs
that even I can hear,
if silently I tread the gloom
to let the evening air caress my skin
and feel the pulse of vibrant life
concealed in sunless woods.
Night is home to magic songs
that flourish undisturbed,
till morning screams with sunlight
the crescendo of the dawn,
and magic yields to mundane life
and rests till it's reborn.
YOU ARE READING
Animus, poetry from the veil
PoetryPoems of mystery, imagination, and self-discovery. Love, heartbreak, revelation, and celebration are presented in this very personal collection of verse. The poetry encompasses a variety of poetic styles, each tailored to convey emotional impact and...
