Only night can make us whole again.

Mothers are the place that we call home. On them we rest our heads and close our eyes. There's no one else who grants the same soft peace, happiness, contentment, sweet release, erasing righttime tears with lullabies, restoring the bright sun that makes us bloom.

Given angel's wings, where might you fly? In what sweet heaven might you find your love? Unwilling to be bound, where might you move, Lost between the wonder and the why?

As spirits roam the neighborhoods at night, Let loose upon the Earth till it be light.

Joy requires one to be awake, Adjusting the heart's ambience to bright. Some prefer the dark, as is their right, On grounds of agony, and to forsake Not only bliss, but all that's blessed by light.

On Halloween, witches come true; Wild ghosts escape from dreams. Each monster dances in the park.

...A fuel-less flame is nothing but a wraith, However wrought, if unsustained by passion.