The Poets are Dreaming

I miss dusk, when the sun goes down,

And I can feel it in my skin:

How the soft earth is cooling down.

And where the bright sun had once been

Becomes a gradient that goes down

From the brightest to the most dim.



They appear like illusions at first,

But as the night sky gets darker,

They twinkle, then it’s like they burst.

Stars. In every shining cluster.

If they were shining in just hertz,

They wouldn’t get any brighter.



And then in the east, she will rise,

So silver, I thought she was wise

On those nights when we were still nice.



The world doesn’t need so much light

Under her cool, silvery gaze,

When all is aglow in the night,

And I stay sleepless and awake.

The nightmares that she helped me fight.

I miss the moon and her soft ways.