Poem
In the velvet darkness of the night,
there is rest and comfort
as a journey ends.
whispered silences are as dust motes,
in this still and perfumed air.
Fleeting are the words we say, while
life reflects not months, but moments,
and has time enough
in the stillness of a sunset,
the futility of language
lacing its voice.
For just one instant in time,
to reach and touch the stars,
as the winds of time stand still, beneath
shades of somber skies
and softly gliding shadows.