Moonlit Arms. (another insomnia thing)

Silent.
Black.
And Warm.
Those are my nights.

Sometimes Evil
But altogether pleasant.

I look at the outside sky,
It is dark
Almost enough to equal that
Of my nearly pitch black room

The one thing
That catches my tired eyes
Is the moon.

Not the stars
In all their quiet pleasure

But the moon
In all her shining glory
A beautiful Beacon of hope
To those who live hard lives
During their days.

The moon shows me,
Her lovely beams
And my attention is caught
So i may not turn away from her.

She informs me,
That I must sleep.

She is silent
Like a tree
Who has its wind no more.

She stays the same
Like a tiny pebble
Touched by nothing.

Yet, as I receive her message
I feel drowsy
And I begin to drift away
From my pains in the world
For the first time in days.

As I slowly drift down
Into the warm covers of my bed
My spirit is lifted up
Ever so gently.

My spirit
The extenson of myself
Is my dreams

As My spirit, My dreams are being lifted up
To be guarded and protected.
And the moon gives a loving smile
As she holds them in her moonlit arms.