What Happens To Nights Like This

What happens to nights like this

When words you've heard

become what they were meant to be

and you don't learn. You stay at home.

You let what will be,they don't own you -

you don't own them.

Feeling spent while all are filling.

Having much and many

all this silence, all this lonesome

all this darkness not built for me,

but made for me regardless

if outside is a breeze

you don't walk away from this.

Do nights go anywhere?

Do they run or walk somwhere?

They run like lava over everything

this wealth I'm not made for

in a room I've made austere

when sunlight hits the walls tomorrow

I will be all the same.