Poetry

At twilight when the sun dips beyond the nearest hill
the dark winter night comes with its entire chill
and when in the early evening the last car drives by
silence falls over the neighborhood and everything is still
 
and at times I could see no stars or even the moon in the sky,
or even a lonely light’s solitary eye
while slowly the dark hours creeps on
and on the wind I hear a child’s forsaken cry.
 
At times it feels as if every kind of heat and brightness is gone
as if in this great big world I am the only one
and on such nights I do wonder about life and the meaning of it all
when even my body and heart feels as cold as stone
 
but then suddenly the early morning does come
and again this big old world feels like my home.