The Night Poem by Lusiana Deborah

The Night reads me story of dream,
but me not sleep yet,
because the dream so cruel.

The Night sing me a lullaby,
my eyes keep flare on,
memory displayed like a goblet.

Me, bent over,
when Night tells Silent how tired singing lullaby,
not come sleepiness yet.

The Night covered her earth-children,
with sky blanket embroidered by silver stars,
me hiding in mind chamber.

The Night busy stir up cups and cups of coffee,
for all buddies whose chasing rotten hope.

The Night, patient,
while me drive out Sleepiness,
accompany me as she hugging Silent.

The Night, sleepiness and Silent were whispering bout dream,
which was run away from mind of me.

The Night more busy,
rearrange all dreams which spilled in the floor of hope,
while me whimper old dream.

The Night keep stiff,
even come the sadness,
it's moon whose get pale hearing news of sorrow.

Toward dawn,
still busy The Night opened the worlds gate,
welcoming The Angels with Blessing Basket.

Never hesitant,
The Night ready to challenge The Morning,
then scattered in coma.