Midnight
Your silence, your still, your chill are an estranged embrace.
Your silence, your still, your chill
Are an estranged embrace.
Welcoming, yet aloof.
Becoming, yet guarded.
Everything sleeps
And for a moment you grant me peace.
But not without the knowing
That this is not home.
Your light warms me while it haunts me -
Enough bright to offer a beacon
But at a distance I know is unreachable.
You tell me “Keep seeking, my child,
For this is not it.”
Oh, but I am warm… but for that permeating chill.
About the Creator
Vanta Lumina
Just a student in the school of life. I live, I observe, I integrate.
Former pro bodybuilder. Fractional marketer. Reluctant optimist.
I write what I’ve lived - and what can no longer stay hidden.
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Comments (1)
This piece really makes you think about the bittersweet nature of certain experiences. It reminds me of times when something seems inviting on the surface but there's an underlying sense of it not being quite right. Like when you find a cozy spot but there's a niggling feeling it's just a temporary comfort. How do you think the idea of "not home" ties into the overall mood here?