Child of Quiet Nights

Dear Moon, my silent guardian,

Tonight, your light drifts like a silver sigh across the world,

softening the edges of my restless thoughts.

I have wandered far in the clamor of the day,

and now I come to you,

seeking the tenderness only your glow can offer.

The city’s roar clings to me—

honking horns, hurried footsteps, clocks counting a life I cannot catch—

and even sleep fails to quiet it.

So I step barefoot onto the cool earth,

letting the wind trace gentle fingers along my arms,

and finally, I breathe in peace.

Here, the world dissolves.

No one judges the weight I carry,

no one measures my pain against another’s.

The trees bow softly,

offering shade without a word,

and the stars wink secrets only the heart can understand.

I speak to you, Moon, of unnamed aches,

of sudden joys that startle my chest like children laughing in the dark.

You do not answer. You simply shine.

And in that stillness, I find myself whole—

not needing applause,

not needing to explain,

just needing to exist.

I wander through silver-lit paths,

each step a syllable, each breath a line in our quiet conversation.

The wind carries away my doubts;

the night folds me gently into its embrace.

I am not lost. I am unfolding.

I am enough.

Dear Moon, my silent guardian,

Tonight, your light drifts like a silver sigh across the world,

softening the edges of my restless thoughts.

I have wandered far in the clamor of the day,

and now I come to you,

seeking the tenderness only your glow can offer.

The city’s roar clings to me—

honking horns, hurried footsteps, clocks counting a life I cannot catch—

and even sleep fails to quiet it.

So I step barefoot onto the cool earth,

letting the wind trace gentle fingers along my arms,

and finally, I breathe in peace.

Here, the world dissolves.

No one judges the weight I carry,

no one measures my pain against another’s.

The trees bow softly,

offering shade without a word,

and the stars wink secrets only the heart can understand.

I speak to you, Moon, of unnamed aches,

of sudden joys that startle my chest like children laughing in the dark.

You do not answer. You simply shine.

And in that stillness, I find myself whole—

not needing applause,

not needing to explain,

just needing to exist.

I wander through silver-lit paths,

each step a syllable, each breath a line in our quiet conversation.

The wind carries away my doubts;

the night folds me gently into its embrace.

I am not lost. I am unfolding.

I am enough.

Thank you, Mother Moon,

for your patient light, your gentle love,

for teaching me the language of silence

and the grace of simply being.

— Always,

Your child of quiet nights

Thank you, Mother Moon,

for your patient light, your gentle love,

for teaching me the language of silence

and the grace of simply being.

— Always,

Your child of quiet nights