Category: Writers Block
It's the end of another day. The twilight has melted into the starlight, and this evening's sunset is only a memory. Is the moon hidden itself behind clouds? Or, maybe it's a silver orb in a northern sky, and outside, the heat still rises from the pavement, and there's no wind, no cool breeze to stop the stifling discomfort I'm feeling. Even my air-conditioner is unable to bring comfort. How long this night seems to be. Will it ever end? Will tomorrow be as hot as this night is?
Even the crickets are quiet, it's so hot, and sweat rolls off of me, tiny beads of salt water. No one's around, just me, and the night runs away with itself. Life is going on. People are living, dying, copulating, being born, arguing, crying, laughing. Yet in my world it's a wall of silence, its ringing growing louder with every second. The billions on this Earth don't know me, and I don't know them. And still, this night rolls on, and morning keeps its secrets to itself. Fate hasn't dealt yher cards, and the night is a restless spirit in my soul. But tomorrow, I will wake up, speak words of encouragement, listen to the problems of family and friends, and wait for another night to begin.
Very thought provoking, as is all of your writing.
Thanks.
Bob
Thanks Bob for being in my corner.
interesting.
wish i could write like that.