Early morning, late at night.
I heard someone talking about you again.
Unlike most he spoke in reverence of your peace, of your creative space.
Spoke out of love – no one else is around, up during your moment each day.
I haven’t visited in a while.
I have no excuses – only lies to me.
I need to stay up or get up.
4am the time for poetry, novels, stories and if I am lucky, the perfect sentence.
Do all of your best ideas come to light just as darkness surrounds you? I can stare for hours at my notebook or at my laptop without a single thought to grab onto. Then, just as I drift off and dream of what could be the scene strikes. It’s never fully developed but it is a dare. Do I get out of the warm confines of my bed to jot down this magnificent unicorn of an idea? Or do I trust myself to remember it come the break of dawn?
I have done both several times, meeting with failure and victory.
Is it because I allow my mind to wander so freely that these thoughts take hold? Is it because my imagination is priming itself for whatever dream I am about to have? I wish I could capture whatever it is I do before I fall to sleep.
The perfect writing trance, it is like nirvana for my creativity. It cannot be created only experienced.
Experience is the best teacher.
At last I saw it.
The breakable heart of glass.
Steal away the night.
The streetlight has seen it all.
It has been there since the very start of it,
Yet it is forever sworn to secrecy.
Not real, unable to express itself in any way.
But what if?
If the chance was offered,
would you take it?
An opportunity to be like the light,
Never participating, always watching.
Would you learn from the secrets,
Or would you sell them out?
If you knew the truth,
Complete and total truth.
Should it be embraced,