An Empty Day, A Pregnant Night

Hiding secrets,
Muting screams,
Cloaking rapists,
And so it seems...

So dark.

But it beckons,
softly calls,
In my mind
And down the halls,

The night.

Flowers unfurl,
The birds sing praise,
Promises renewed
And hope is raised.

So bright...

And it appeals,
The colorful,
In most conceptions,
Just wonderful.

The day.

So pardon me
For thinking such
But isn't the sunshine
Honored too much?

Flowers still wilt,
The birds' song age,
Promises are broken,
And false hope is staged...

So routine.

But a lighter mask
Is molded on,
In our minds
Opinions gone.

The day.

Protecting secrets,
Calming the screams,
And hollow the rapists
With murder; it seems...

So unique.

Antique secrets,
Smothered in screams,
Victims of rapists,
Avenging, it seems...

The night.

And in the darkness
you can never see
how cloudy or
clear it will be...

so pardon me
for thinking such,
but the moonlight
is a sacred touch...

to the haunting beauty
full of souls who weep...
and is pregnant with
dreamers who will not sleep...

the night.