Nocturnal Good

Outside is being whipped around.

Leaves and people ricochet off my window.

As I look on with bitter intrigue I wonder

Why the stars hide themselves during the day.

 

It took someplace in the woods

Far from lions and governments.

Me, a loose seed.

Hope, a natural invention.

 

So in this desparate darkness,

Where whats left of light crys,

I'm asking.

Do good people only limit themselves to the night?