I feel like crying, a joyous mess, 

realising not all dreams of childhood fade, 

some are true and have always been there, 

It just takes passing out of childhood to once again find and gain wonder in its mystery.

What do you call that feeling of joy, fear, wonder, Godliness, loneliness?

Maybe its love, maybe religion, maybe its the unknown. 

So enticing, it calls out to you, barely revealing itself, shining and twinkling, 

Singing out to you to piece me together…but careful, or else you might find yourself in a sort of lost daze, without the key insight.

Questioning just how much more there must be to all this.

Hoping for more but also praying to be wrong. 

What is the colour of the Night?

Her Delightful Mystery, Swaying always. 

Moving and changing, our only constant. 

The Night, her promise of tomorrow, of better things to come

The Night that seeks pleasure and provides relief

The Night that never fails

The night, my promise of God

The Night my sacred abyss

The night, she who knows me best

The Night my forever prayer