Softness Of The Late Night Mind...
I've tried thousands of words to capture what this is.
Still these gentle fuzzy hours float like soap bubbles in a fading-to-indigo twilight sky,
Hiding behind stars and planets.
I wonder if the family Muse has dinner with my ghosts, laughing at my feeble attempts to understand emotional physics.
Is there an infinity of universes contained in a drying teardrop?
Are all the nebulae in the visible universe merely the echoes of exploded ancient dreams? What glorious ghosts they are!
If I should dream of flying through the end of everything, I want to see it all.
Softness and the blessed stillness of critical focus are gifts, the ones Prometheus was really paying for.
Paint the night with ideas; brush it softly with poetry, for the night is quiet and soft, rampant with hope and dreams.
Sleep is a starship, deep in the indigo sky.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/27/2026
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| Softness of the Late-Night Mind |