Blackest hours

Blackest hours:

At midnight, when the falling stars parade
My heart sings in its joy and mystery;
But when the moon itself begins to fade
I lose that sense of awe and revelry:
For sunlight glares and burns my eyes at dawn
And nothing is mysterious at noon;
In daylight hours, my inspiration's gone
Until again I write beneath the moon--
Imagination flourishes at night;
Dreams are better dreamed in darkness deep
Words don't flow as richly in the light,
So why waste blackest hours on empty sleep?
Immortal star-songs raise their voice for me,
And I write what I hear as poetry.

This is something that I wrote a couple years ago, but I stumbled across it tonight as I was browsing some of the old files on my computer, and I remembered how much this particular piece meant to me then, and still means to me now.

Now, if only I could get myself back to a place where I can write like this again. That's my goal. To create. To produce music in the form of words. To attempt to express in meager words what can only be felt with the heart and soul.