Nightly joy
isn’t always
fireworks.
Sometimes
it’s the quiet sigh
of a house asleep,
the moon
keeping watch,
a warm drink,
a faithful pet
curled beside you,
and the comforting thought
that you survived
another day
to meet
another dawn.
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
Nightly joy
isn’t always
fireworks.
Sometimes
it’s the quiet sigh
of a house asleep,
the moon
keeping watch,
a warm drink,
a faithful pet
curled beside you,
and the comforting thought
that you survived
another day
to meet
another dawn.
Leave a comment