Poem: Endless Nights Writing

The clock is soft with silent chime,
The stars are smeared with ink and time,
My candle leans with weary light—
Another page, another night.

The world outside is fast asleep,
While I in shadowed corners, keep
A vigil over every line,
As thoughts like ghosts begin to shine.

The words arrive, then drift away,
Like mist that breaks before the day,
But still I chase them, breathless, wide,
Through forests deep, through shifting tide.

My fingers ache, the coffee’s cold,
The tales I write are new and old,
Fragments pulled from soul and skin—
A thousand ends where I begin.

And though the dawn may steal the dark,
It cannot dim this restless spark,
Something stirs when silence grows—
A voice the sleepless writer knows.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path.

Brenda Marie