Tag Archive | night

Surviving the Night

fearWhen I opened my eyes the darkness blinded me. The black night encompassed me in its ebony veil. I could feel long icy fingers of fear wrapping round my quickening heart. The silence surrounding me pounded in my ears, but I wasn’t alone. I sensed a presence somewhere near. So near.

I was in pain, my muscles cramping as I lay there, no room to extend my legs for relief. I was cold. So cold. So many thoughts raced through my mind, how did I get here? What had happened? What would happen next?

Time passed slowly as my unanswered questions turned to thoughts of my children and I knew I had to survive, they needed me, but I could barely keep my eyes open. I was fading, fading into a dark, cold oblivion I could conceive of no escape from.

As a lay shivering, waiting for the inevitable, I heard something. A faint rumbling at first, but it grew steadily louder and louder and I realized I had to move. I had to save myself. Clarity found me and I realized I’d fought this battle before. That rumbling was the night beast and I’d beaten him before.

It took everything in me to turn myself over and poke him in the head. I took back my blankets, kicked the dog off the bed and as my body warmed, I drifted off to dream . . .


I belong to the words – especially during the night.

Sometimes I write, and it makes such perfect sense; to me, to someone else – other times, I wonder. I used to rid myself of all the words I wasn’t certain sense or clarity could be found in, but then I mourned them and I searched for them, digging up their invisible grave sites and attempting to resurrect them in some semblance of what they once were, but they were never the same again so I stopped. I stopped crumpling the pages they were written on, I stopped scratching them out with the ink they were created with. I stopped deleting them and let them breathe.

I let them exist.

Some of them are hidden safely away, some are locked in invisible cages, and some simply roam free – sometimes I let people see them, sometimes I visit them in the deepest and darkest part of night. Most stay silent, content to be wherever they are, but others call out, cry out – begging to be released. Sometimes I consider it. Maybe one day I’ll set the captives free.

The words I find the need to hide are most often the ones that come to me when the sun has been settled long enough for night to erase any memory of it, when it blankets even the stars in ebony embrace. Tonight is one of those nights and so many words are whispering, I find myself wondering if they are mine or if I am theirs. The thought crosses my mind – I have it all wrong, they are my captors.

I am bound by letter and verse, by sonnet and chapter – a prisoner without plan nor desire for escape.

And so the night and the words are mine and I belong to them. When the morn comes and the light of day rouses me from what little sleep I was allowed, I wonder what they will say, those words I kept company with as I dreamed outside of a dream, waiting for the darkness to fade . . .


I long to be

unapologetically –

wholly, perfectly,

and simply


  but . . .

it seems at times

I forget to remember

where the me has gone

within the person that I am.

I like her

     I do,

but sometimes . . .

she is a stranger

or instead,

I am a stranger to her.

I can’t completely be certain

so I am left to wonder

and wander.

We play hide and seek

the her and the I,

we pretend to be friends

and sometimes,

     we are,

it depends on who’s *it*.

It seems to me

we should be one,

of thought

of mind

of inner everything,

     but . . .

and maybe this is crazy –

we are separate,

the her and the I.

Did I fracture?

or was it she?

Splinters of self,

branches on the same tree,

perchance it is meant to be,

the her and the me,

growing together,


     as one.

Crystal R. Cook

Tanka Poetry – Night

Daily Post – Tanka Poetry

Tanka Poem in three verses . . .

In the dark of night
moonbeams pierce the veil of black
lighting paths for dreams
slowly falling from the stars
finding their way to your heart

Restless spirits still
embraced in slumbers respite
quiet calm comforts
with softly sung lullabies
carried gently in the wind

Angels tiptoe in
to caress your weary brow
soundly may you sleep
they keep vigil through the night
till the morn comes and you rise


I rise and write.

Hendrick ter Brugghen - Old Man Writing by Candlelight

Hendrick ter Brugghen – Old Man Writing by Candlelight

When the sun settles for the night and the moon begins its reign, I rise and I write.

Insomnia is often a writer’s friend, perhaps even their only friend at times. It can also be an innocent and unintentional adversary. Many nights I have laid my head upon my pillow in hopes of drifting into dream. Instead, my mind begins to think on things I should have thought of throughout the day. Ideas and epiphanies chance moonlight visits to my conscious mind, begging me to rise and give them life upon a page.

Sonnets of silence serenade me with lullabies not meant to calm me to rest, but rather charm me to dream a thousand wakeful dreams. With my eyes open, pen in hand, word by beautiful word, they enchant me. A writer’s respite is not often found in the dark of night. Meandering minutes quickly turn to hours when a wandering muse beckons. When night retreats to the rising sun and the words silence to claim the sleep that was meant to be mine, it is time again to start another day.

Coffee in hand I stumble through, vowing not to stir again before the morning sun. I almost make myself believe I will slumber when the night comes, but when it does the seduction of solitude is too much to resist and I find myself once again, dancing with words across a page like lovers in a dream. I know too well the next day will be filled with weary eyes and a yawning, yearning for sleep.

Sometimes, when the night words come to steal my tomorrow, I refuse to play. When I do not heed their call, they whisper louder to lure me from my bed, knowing I will mourn their loss if I do not rise and claim them for my own. As a willing servant I follow and frolic just as I did the night before. Though happy to have the gift of them granted to me, I know there will be a price to pay, and I gladly pay it without pause.

There are moments I admit I have wished them gone. When my tired eyes blur and my head pounds in time with the beating of my heart, sometimes I wish them gone . . . but not really. Without them I would cease to exist, at least I fear I would. Every now and again, they retreat and sleep consumes me. I never fear their leave of me; they are silent and still only long enough for my body and mind to rejuvenate before they come again to play.

I welcome them and look to the light of the moon to guide our way through another night.

Crystal R. Cook

I hold the stars

Natalia Maroz

(Art by Natalia Maroz)

Stillness surrounds

as twilight fades,

vying the chaos

of the day,

filling my spirit

with sweet respite,

replenishing my


with quiet command,

becalming my senses

with absolute peace.

Angels whisper prayers

silence sings me to slumber,

in my dreams

I hold the stars.

Crystal R. Cook



The sun has
long since set.

The midnight hour
has already begun
to surrender reign
to the approaching

With heavy eyes,
I abide in silence
while the sun
stirs from slumber.

The night has been
so very long.

I fear this new day
may linger past its
appointed hour
as well.

What unseen thief has
has robbed me of repose?

I pray this season of unrest
is soon quelled.

I yearn to be lost in dream.

I long to have the ebony sky
blanket me in the mysteries
it holds.

To be swept away on a
moon beam odyssey
is my fondest desire.

Stirring thoughts
keep the lullaby
of peaceful solace
from me.

Rambling notions stumble,
one upon another
in desperate measure
to be heard,
refusing to be ignored.

Fingers of light
have begun to reach
into my night veiled realm.

They beckon me
to arise and frolic,
but the night does not
willingly release
its embrace.

I will soon enough rise
and move about the day,
though my innermost
essence is weary,
I will remain steadfast.

When this day’s ebbing sun
takes another evening bow,
I will once more retreat
to the comfort
of my darkened room
and pray through the night
for the hush of perfect solitude
to encompass me.