In the dead of the night.

In the dead of the night
The constant patter of the rain shatters
The silence of the night
One wonders why I am up at this hour
I often wonder that of myself too
Why can't I fall asleep
Why after all the rigors of the day
I still refuse to surrender to sweet oblivion
Beneath those velvet sheets
Because I simply can't

Isn't it pitiful
Isn't it ironic
That for all the ages that have passed
Love seems to be the one thing we still fail to master
Perhaps it is not to be mastered
Perhaps it will never be understood
Even those lucky enough merely caught a glimpse of its wonder
Silly that for all the themes of love in all literature
I thought I knew them all
I could never be more myopic
It is greater than me
It is greater than everything
It is the one core of humanity that humans have yet to grasp
It is why we are lead such pathetic and insignificant lives
Lives of quiet desperation
Yes
Thoreau got that right
A desperation that can only be fulfilled by love
Something we know so woefully little of
In this world this age this time

The patter of raindrops slow
Sporadic
Pitter patter
Drop drop drop
Silence
But silence never came

Oh but don't we all wish
We could turn back the hands of time