Day 57: Till the Restless Child finds sleep

I have often found it is easier to write during the night rather than the beginning of the day. I do not know if this is because we feel compelled to summarize our day in words, or if we are too afraid that we will miss out on details the next day we try to write. But for whatever maybe the reason the idea of being restless like a child still comforts me, because I can imagine this means that I can be rocked back to sleep again even if by my own thoughts and words. In the slim chance of being adamant I often feel I tend to overlook that which is obvious, after all the obvious isn't always interesting. My choice of writing tonight hence, though fairly obvious finds no credence , no relationship and no reason than just a sleepless night, and a choice to write.

Till the Restless Child finds sleep
Till the dawn carries the night, till the restless child finds sleep,
Till the chilly winds of night slams against my window, till there is nothing left to keep
The footsteps on my door that I hear no more,
And the silence I slip in and out of like ever before

Till I refuse to tell you how, or what I feel sometimes,
They are just thoughts I could do without and some that I will never reveal or leave behind
The tired and weary lays his head, on the pillow that holds the imprint of his mind,
Till the clues that guides even his dreams , and written down somewhere and yet hard to find

They are not remnants of the day, they are musings of the night,
They are tickets of the front row seat of a long lost fight.
They are the players fortune, beginners luck whatever you may call,
They are whatever you may need, till you find someone to break your fall

Till the restless leaves and weaves his way out, till the sleep wins again,
Till the fairly tale endings of the night are not written but in vain,
We are heroes of our own story books, we are but captured only by the night,
We are captured only by thoughts and words and of musings to which we write.