Tell me stories of the night,
Whisper it, tell it sweetly and gently-
The subtle reminders that you were alive.
Talk of the crickets that hopped in the grass
The frogs that croaked behind your room
And how their noises was your lullaby
Tell me about the whirling wind
That hummed sweet calming tunes
And how it made you nostalgic.
Talk to me calmly but fiercely
About the thoughts that filled your mind
And how it made you question your sanity.
Talk of the demons that raged in your head
And how they kept your awake at night,
The hot blood that rushed through your veins.
The subtle reminders that you were alive-
Whisper it, tell it sweetly and gently,
Tell me stories of the night.
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Dear Poeter, I accept life as
Dear Poeter, I accept life as the accumulation of memories in the mind of every human being. As such, the quest for life is predicted to be the night of the day-related recovery lab that gives rest to little trips. The constellation that adorns the silent room with white light, the ever-sad moon face, the flute sound of the distant bamboo forest, the anger of the wind, the smile that sweeps across the face, the snow that drops hidden among the grass in the quiet outside, the crowd of a few people looking for a livelihood at night. . No one in this world can define the aesthetics of the night; But, it is mentally felt. This poem really impressed me. All The Best My Dear Friend; Write More Congratulations
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