Wednesday, 6 November 2013


Children of a distant epoch,
constellations caught in our eyes,
dancing in the dark,
           pitter    patter
of midnight rain.

We inhaled stars by the lungful,
craving the almost imperceptible          
white noise;
breath of 
universes collecting thoughts,
deep in dormant slumber.

We were alive,
moonlight painting

We watched the spectacle 
of night -
while its audience slept -
holding glass dreams
           a      part
in our hands.

I bet you all didn't know I was a closet writer! 

My psychology exam is in two days and here I am, dawdling away my last precious midnight hours. Just thought I might share with everyone the occasional poem my crazy, overloaded brain decides to spew out in the middle of the night. It's one of the less offensive ones of the lot, or at least it is to me. I felt that it was a pity if it was just going to be left collecting dust in the recesses of my book, so here it is.


- R

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