In the night the music plays, <br />I lay alone in the covers hidden from the dark, <br />I do not turn I do not look, I listen to the music play, <br />The horror of reality has left its’ mark, <br />On my soul, on my mind, <br />I am alone in the truth, in the past. <br />I know what they have seen, as others are blind, <br />I know the cast, <br />Of their play, of their lives, <br />Yet I still lay here scared, weak, <br />It is on my knowing that they thrive, <br />So I am left, weak. <br />The music plays over the sounds, all their goodbyes <br />I do not hear them, yet I feel them, <br />I see their faces, their eyes, <br />I know they hold onto life by it’s hem, <br />Trying not to let go, to hold to life, <br />They hold onto me, my mind, <br />I am their source of life, <br />And so I lay, waiting for sleep, <br />I lay with the nightlights in their small light, <br />Yet still the darkness is so deep, <br />For this is the same every day, I fall asleep, to the music of the night. <br /> <br />~This is the truth, this is how I live, this is my night.<br /><br />Bethany Maxwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/music-of-the-night-4/
