The Night Is Mine
I, think
I love the night.
It allows me to think,
who am I?
what makes I?
whom am I going to be?
and whom will I be.
It listens, as quiet as I shout;
It's strange...
at times,
I feel warm hugged by the cold night..
and I, think
I feel hurt to share the unhappiness,
because the people who urged to care..
are beloved by me..
then I, think
I found the night a good choice,
But...
I, suspect
do I love the night then?
How could I let it feel the pain that I feel..
if I claimed to love it?
Are we selfish..
as human...
Oh,
the night doesn't feel.
