The day is leaving us in measure;
Hours, minutes and seconds tell us to assure:
The day is leaving us to finish roaming;
Let’s get back to a place that’s homing.
The clear blue sky floats and bleeds away;
Darkness is following this event in its old array:
This is my time with my obscurity;
Let us return to lightsome security.
Whether the night is our villain or maybe weather;
Humans, we, know it much better:
Outdoors mixes cowardness with daring;
We should find a resort before regretting.
Concerning me, my home is a way;
Staying between brick walls pushes me astray:
My thoughts desire a dress of obscurity;
Let me roam away of my own insecurity.
Day? Night? Time’s no more under mesure;
I’m between the in- and out-doors’ ever pressure:
I desire a road made of time for roaming;
Let darkness reach me, homing.
Ever changing from calm to wild weather,
Under roofs, and in the sky’s air pressure:
Ever changing in feeling secure – insecure;
I’m an injailed poet who never gets better.