Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story, Weekend


The world sleeps as night time comes, the unsavory and just alike watching over them.

The sun is blinding bright in its time, all can be seen and unseen where it chooses to focus its light.

And though the worst might happen before the eyes of well lit day, it is night which holds the sinister side, a reputation tarnished and feared.

As the moon wanes and grows black in the sky, it too seems to try to save face at times.

Faithful are those who tend their flames, away from the world of others.

Peaceful do they sleep amid the chimes of insects and wind through day and night alike.

4 thoughts on “Stilte.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s