Late Night Poetry

It was already getting late at night, and I was by myself in the room making an attempt to produce something that can accurately reflect what I have for this moment. Drafting a poem to explain how I feel about the night sky seems difficult because I cannot find the right words to use. Though it is hours on end that I have been writing, the words somehow seem to be lacking.

I gazed upward into the night sky and got my sudden insight into what was really missing. Oh, it was there all right — a night sky flaming with stars shining blazingly against the pitch black! Then it dawned on me I hadn't heard it for quite some time now; the night song, yes that song which can only be noted at night when all around you all nature is still and the stars are twinkling above.

I closed my eyes, listening for the night song that wasn't there. Maybe the stars were keeping it from me, I thought, as though suddenly fearing to let the secret of the night song out to the world.

At the point when I was going to surrender, I heard it, delicate and far off, like a murmur. The night melody was as lovely as ever, delicate and with a trace of trouble. I felt warmth in my heart and tears overflowed my eyes. I realized that the night song was just for me and that no one else could hear it, and I felt a sudden wave of hope.

I began to write, quickly capturing the night song in my words. I was no longer struggling to find the right words; they flowed. The pool of hope was where the broken heart lay, the direction seemed to have vanished as though his going made no difference, the girl who quickly charmed the guy, and me as a writer, struggling.

As I wrote, I felt my heart fill with courage and strength and was reminded that even though I'm a writer and sometimes my words feel inadequate, my words still matter- a reminder I can make a change, no matter how small.

In the closing of my poem, I thank the night song for reminding me that still there is a difference. I think of the city of Palembang, where it snows only in dreams. I consider the cold attitude that befalls me to concentrate on writing and the hope lying in the pool of my heart. I reflect on the courage I have to take on the world, not perfectly or poetically, but at least poetically.

I finished my poem. And I felt peace and content creeping over me. I knew I had done something special, something nobody else could do. I gave life to the night song, and with it, I gave hope.