Sometimes I lay awake,
the silence pressing down on me
stealing away slumber,
and letting the voices in my head
Scream.

I open the window behind me.
An orchestra of crickets
serenade me
on the wind.

Chirps of little angels
drown out the tornado
the silence had built.

My eyes flutter closed.
Darkness encompasses me
A force of fear, loneliness
I cry out
without sound.

I waltz with shadows
and flip the switch
illuminating my room.
The clock reads quarter past two,

Voices race once again
causing a persistent ache
An ache which only leaves me
with an antidote of
Sleep.

With exhaustion weighing down
my bones
I creep down the stairs
knowing each creek
as a friend
or foe.
Last step taken
I reach out and feel a
Familiar Chill.
Turning the knob
I feel the rush of
Calmness.
The portal to the night opens.
Wind engulfs
my body
leading me
to the towering
Maple Tree
in which we take the sap of
to make syrup for a sweet prize.

Reaching out in need
a rough, cold surface
is felt and grasped.

Losing the last of my strength
the body that I have cursed
slinks to the grass
beneath the strong Maple.

Above me in the country night
stars glisten with freedom
and the moon looks down in me
placing it's hand in my shoulder
reminding me
to Live for the Light.
To walk from the
Dark.

Drooping eyes of mine flutter
like the shutter of
the lens I watched
the world exist through.

Voices dissipate and
the concert of crickets
lull me to a slumber.
My antidote.