In the silence of the night,

The queer colors of blindness stood still,

So still that it vehemently filled up every single space of daylights,

No leftout,

?

In The Silence of The Night,

The caress of the breeze leniently stroke by,

As if they were whistling,

Those tangible muses of melodrama ,

Right into our ears,

They remained as treasures to be cherished,

To be remembered,
Thought they were barely seen,

?

In The Silence of The Night,

This prosaic moon and the painted stars,

Staidly intertwined each other,

Happening to be together,

Destinied to share the volatile chimera ,

That inanely fill in between the chasm,

Every single night,

It's a wonder how they'd glazed these austere canvases,

We dubbed skies,

Tirelessly weaving an embroidered peace of delicate persona,

Making them constantly glow in an obscured day,

But at some distants,

They were as if an illusion,

Bland dazzles bestowed upon us,

Like fractal beam,

Of crystallize moon,

In the silence of the night,
The planet Earth slowly turn,
Graciously lifting its gown ,
As those ephemeral visceral beaus,
Gradually vanished,
Throught the resurgance of the daylight