Volcano (Earth Quake)

 

The night always sing a dirge

While the wind plays the harpsichordist

Stroking lower baritones

To its own delight.

There is more;

The silent nights dance like heathen in the forest

But in all these bizarre nights

I stand and look.

 

There are nights

When I just want to pretend to be mad

Yet this idea seems too expensive to buy.

 

There are also nights

When tears leave me

And in grief there seem no replacement.

It is during these nights that

It becomes more apparent

That water and tears are different

Even when they share the same volume.

 

There are nights

When I feel the world is so surreal

That I rather am too practical

Even to a ghost!

During these nights,

I can walk through walls and tease the ghosts that haunts me

Because I know he can’t penetrate through these walls.

 

There are nights,

When there are not enough letters of the alphabets

To describe the pains in the sinking soul

These are the nights when

My worry is big enough to make the earth quake.

These nights, when my touch can cause a volcano.