I Am The Night

I am the night. 

I am the dark.

I am the very thing that children wake from in their terrified stupors of panic,

gasping for air and clutching duvets closer to themselves,

trembling in the vast blackness.

As a young girl, I pictured beauty -- a world were people bore happiness

and looked upon others with smiling faces and hearts filled with love. 

A cold world tickled out the frigidness inside myself.

Exposure to the elements hardened what was once innocent and meek.

I am the dark.

I am the night.

The night knows no difference to the day.

It is not the night that shrouds mystery and casts gloom.

The night stands idly by as creatures of the deep sulk out of the earth's crevices,

marching across streets, roads, paths, tainting night's enchanting beauty.

The world leaves scars.

The world mares beauty. 

Where happiness lingers, the world seeks to snuff it out. 

And, as the night I have come to bare the titles thrust upon me with elegant embrace.

There is no harm in blanketing pain with overcasts of darkness. 

The world is an unfriendly place to those that bare their hearts to heaven and

expect a hearty welcome.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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