The Night Drips

The Night Drips

By J. A. Weymouth


The night is dripping

Soft melancholy

of the night.


Soothing thoughts of nightmares weep for better words.


The nightly whispers.

Red roses are not thoughts.

that sparkle sound

that shines

is dim in the dark.


And here I am sitting/waiting.


Quiet lights put pressure

on the mind,

while speechless/sensless

I am driven to a quiet world.


There are many whispers in the dark while I search for it.


A knowing.  A caring.

Distant.  It sits still.


What am I in that dark place?


That night drips

and I float alone

with soft words of reason.


Quiet words they are.


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