I speculate that there isn’t much to see at night
Vision slightly tinted of a star’s shadow at night.

Dear father, do tell why you make me talk to granite
When the only time you answer is silently at night.

She kneels before her window, pouring out her dreams
Eyes beaming at the sparkles she can see on this night.

I was once her, poor girl with an imagination
That is, of course, until I met the night.

A howling blow of nature’s tension, when I hear
The wind screaming through the trees at night.

The flat line slap to my once virgin face
News of his parting, his departure at night.

“Rest assure daughter, for I am still here, just
Listen for me in your thoughts and you’ll hear me, at night.”

Eyes closed, cracked windows, darkness swallowed sight
All Christine has left of him, is what she hears at night.

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