I used to await the night with dread,
because I couldn’t sleep
Or had nightmares when I did drift off.
There was no cozy cabin in the woods for me,
no memories of picnics with deviled eggs,
no land of blossoms,
no trusting unicorn prancing for a ride.
And so, I became a night owl,
even as a child.
Being older now,
I still don’t sleep well at night,
and I still have nightmares at times.
Yet I await the night
like the dawning of the Age of Aquarius,
for this is when ideas take shape.
Cotton clouds drift across my mind,
becoming day dreams turned reality.
My response to Linda Kruschke’s
Paint Chip Poetry Prompt #43: To Night.