stillness

The stillness of the night
blows in on a cool breeze.
The room is still,
as I lay working on my bed.
The soft humming of a fan in the corner,
and the soft clicking of my keys
is all that is around me.

I have slept to those sound before,
but tonight I am awake.
I am alive with ideas about life and love.
I try to express each thought,
but all that emerges is my silent voice.
I want to tell people of the shortness of life,
about the richness of love,
but that has all been done before.

What is left to write about?
The questions I ask myself ring inside the tower
of my head.
My mind climbs each staircase
searching for answers:
one answer, the answer, any answer.

The stillness keeps me cool and relaxed.
I let myself wander,
and I think of her.

Her golden hair, so bold and bright,
lays on her soft shoulders.
Her hair seems to be sleeping on the softness of
her self.
Her lips touch, subtly.
Only the finest, most soft bristles from a heavenly brush
could have painted those beautiful lips.

My face is relaxed, but my mind races.
My body is still, but my heart pounds with the fullness of
life and love.
My skin is cool, but my blood flows hot when I see her.
I am a quiet spring morning.
She is my hot sun burning bright within me.

In the calmness of my room,
her love is rich and warm and full.
In the stillness of my body,
I long to hold her.