Passage 1 Poem by Nyx C Styx

It is within the twilight hours of the night, when even the cricket has stopped to chirp, and remains the fleeting hours before the sudden pulling of the sun from the sea and flung across the skies and back to the sea again. In those twilight hours of night, where I am afraid to provoke the silence with the sounding flick and burn of a match, and the muted scream that denotes the liquefaction of a wax candle. In those twilight hours, where the nib of the pen writes blindly upon the paper, unsure if it has set upon it all its intended verse or if some words have fallen of the edge; where they eyes cannot see the words they write in the dark before the dawn.

It is within those twilight hours of night
where I may finally write,
words yet unexposed to the light.