Day 63: So you say

It is not often that I write poetry with a darker note, but being up late at night most times will let you think about the strange relationship that this darker side of the day shares with its counterpart. They will tell you of the best of story books and fairy tales being read at night, they will remind you of the warm sleeps we all go to , and also the strangeness that surrounds , that shrouds the night. It is almost strange that the hero and the villain must both come out at night, the valor and the grace that are tested and for me sometimes the only times I can write, must be here. I told myself, what if the night was having a conversation with the day? about what the day and other people say, what would be speak of? what would it complain about? Hence the choice of the phrase "So you say" the you refers to the counterpart, the roles being reversed and the walls must refer to the spaces of our head where we think out loud, and where we dream and forget, where we write and erase. This is one of the more elusive ones that I write,

So you say
So you say that the walls are painted blue, the chairs lay bare on the floor,
The windows shut the wind outside, and all I can hear is the creak of the door
The twilight zones of the night come and go, like flickering lights set on repeat,
They are meant to be passages you write everyday, things you ponder about when you can't sleep

So they say they are the invisible ones, the ones we can't forget or replace,
The music that plays on and on , and the ones that builds a place somewhere in my head.
They are passages of the book no one reads any more, they are obscured like the night,
They are words that haven't been unlocked quite yet, they are ones that haven't fought a fight.

So you say that the night is always young, it never reaches the end; it slowly drifts away,
And when the stories are all told at night, do you often wish for a brand new story every day?
The knights of the night, the victory marches of the day, the reasons we all sometimes celebrate,
Is that among the many words we write, the paintings we draw, we must all but simply "create"

Oh dreamer of the night, the ones who summarize and make sense of it all,
The ones who remember the dreams in their head, every time you memories hits recall.
So you say one day when the writings are all done, the walls will have scribbles no longer blue,
They will be filled with words that carry meaning , they will speak for me to "you"