Nightfall

Sun sets beyond the horizon
Painting the sky with shades of purple and gold
It flickers on the water and clouds
Bowing for all, before the shadows fall

(The pearl now rests on the velvet)

And the serene tune of nightbirds
Echoes for lonesome hearts
For the sleepless children,
Turning in their cribs
For the brethren of Moon and stars


Across the sea of indigo
Over the myriad of isles
From tarmac and city kills
From desert sands to rolling green hills
 
We bathe in the last rays of light
Firstborns of night, we breath its air
And thus we're free from care

The Song Of Your Own

This is a song,  a composed musical piece. 
But can you hear it? 
Can you see it on the paper? 
How has ink told its tale - how has a pen been a tool for an art? 

There's no same melody for your song and mine, nor we share the same lyrics. 
I cannot hear your story in its grandeur and you cannot hear mine.

You see, its notes are the cries of your heart and its lyrics are your deepest wishes, all echoing in you.

You are the songwriter, the poet and the song itself.
The masterpiece.