The night comes darkly

The night comes darkly
with the dawn of dusk.
Fire and light running to the west,
shadows and ghosts on the wind from the east.
As nightfall comes
so too the whispers of trusts broken,
of personal hells loosed,
and of dreams untethered.

The night brings solitude,
silent moments that lurk in coyed hearts,
deep emotions slipping seamlessly
from the soul of unrequitedness,
to the heart of regret,
for things done, not done,
things undone,
and things felt impossible.
As it ebbs and flows,
the night brings peace to those
who sleep and forget.
For the rest,
their's is but to lament.

The morning comes
tentatively, tenuously, tenaciously,
awakening the fair and the ugly alike.
The day comes and takes,
leaving little time for gentler tidings,
leaving no notion,
to wonder for the night
that had slipped by unfettered,
and to find it coming again,
at days end
a stranger that comes darkly.

The dark comes nightly,
the morning follows,
and life is lived as it should be,
not as it would be.
Seek joy,
that the days find warmth and light,
the nights remain asleep,
and the passion silences the lamentations.
Be joy,
that you are the music that fills the halls
where the dying seek love
and the living seek solace,
and the night that comes darkly
retreats to the souless.