In the Night

Author's Note: This was the first poem I wrote and I was experimenting with my poetic side and the structures of a poem.

In the night,
Ghostly shadows tower over the living,
Shutting out the light
Like shades pulled down over the sun
A light bulb slowly dying
Huge hands flick off the switch

Watching for the hint of pale blue,
The time for them to fade,
Hang above this spinning top
A million shining lights,
Pinpointing their place among the sheer blackness



Crickets chirp out the rhythm of the night,
Joined by the noises of darkness,
As the giants of the woods
Wait for the glint
Of the emeralds strung off their arms



And as night's hands reach to cover the lights of towns and cities,
The sleek and cool blanket of nature
Soothes those who are of the dark
As they reveal themselves
Only to be once again hidden by what happens
In the night

Bonfire

Author's Note: This piece is a free writing piece straight from my journal. It was of a personal experience I had, and it brought back great memories that I thought would be fun to share with the readers.


The crackle of the flames licking up the side of the metal pit fills the silent night air, creating an orange glow on all of our faces. We sit huddled up on benches, over-sized blankets on our laps; the corners trailing to the ground where our feet lay upon the cool pavement. A slight breeze blows against our faces, wafting in the nighttime smells of the dew settling upon the grass and the leaves' crisp, and damp smell. Bright stars twinkle overhead, visible for miles all around. We reminiscence about old jokes, and laugh at how silly the scariness of the movie that had us hiding under our hands just mere hours ago seems in this atmosphere; as if something terrible couldn't exist within the sphere of orange glow around us.
I stare up at the sky and feel the heat of the fire flood my cheeks and warm my cold nose. I wrap the blanket tighter around myself, balling my hands into fist with the thick material stuck between my fingers and pressed tightly against my palm; trying to rid them of the numbing sensation.
Suddenly a marshmallow falls off the end of someones rod, tumbling down into the red flames below it. We all sit quiet for a moment, but then erupt into laughter; shaking silence from our shoulders and soon the mood of our circle melts away the cold. Our laughter and the smell of marshmallows takes the place of the silence, and we enjoy the warmth and fun until the flames die out.