The darkness of night is so vibrant,
bouncing with creative energy.
The darkness of the morning is eery,
burning with shadows that reek
of a lingering, the lurking eve before it.
The freshness of a new day comes not with the clock's mandate,
but rather the sun.
I live in the night,
breathing in the dark chocolate richness of midnight air.
It makes me alive.
I used to sit and wait,
anticipating the wee hours and the clarity they bring.
Past midnight lies new focus.
Past midnight are answers.
To past midnight my meandering but seeking mind must journey for truth.
But the world thinks it is morning that holds knowledge,
its dewy air saturated with the buzz of the day.
That is only the sun.
In the morning darkness I only hear whispers of secrets told hours before,
the hours that defy what the clock says
and call themselves