In The Cold of The Night - 1. Was it just one night...?

The muted sounds of rain against the window,

The quick, sparse flashes of white,

And the deep heavy rumbles of thunder,

Keeps me company in the cold of the night.

No book near interesting enough,

Not even by candlelight.

When I am lying awake in bed,

Alone, in the cold of the night.

Away from all prying eyes,

Trying, to get myself to write.

Funny, how I can’t even string even three words together,

Even undisturbed; in the cold of the night.

Words swirling around in my mind,

Just outside my line of sight;

The notebook still wordless,

Just me fidgeting, in the cold of the night.

The flame scorches my wandering finger,

Against my will to scream, I had to fight.

What good it would have done,

To wake everyone, in the cold of the night.

How long has it been,

Since your spirit took flight?

Leaving your lifeless body,

With me, in the cold of the night!

I can still picture the gravestone I laid upon,

Senseless, night after night;

Till the watchman had to be paid,

To keep an eye on me, in the cold of the night.

Charcoals replaced the pen,

The paper sure seemed alright.

Before I knew it I was looking at,

You and me, under the sky, close... In the cold of the night.