The bright night

 The night arrived, but darkness did not reign,

For silver moons cast light upon the plain.

Each star was burning, quiet yet so near,

Whispering secrets only dreamers hear.

The sky became a lantern vast and wide,

Its shimmering veil could never hide.

Mountains stood still, their shadows aglow,

While rivers mirrored the heavens’ flow.

Owls sang softly from ancient trees,

Their notes were carried on gentle breeze.

The earth felt calm, a sacred breath,

A pause between life, time, and death.

The bright night offered a peaceful hand,

Guiding the lost across silent land.

No fear, no sorrow, no haunting sound,

Only wonder circling all around.

The fields lay drenched in silver beams,

Turning reality into dreams.

Every leaf gleamed like polished glass,

Every second felt too brief to pass.

Wanderers looked up with aching hearts,

Finding in starlight a place to start.

The weary soul found hope reborn,

Awaiting the promise of radiant dawn.

The bright night whispered: You are not small,

For you are woven into it all.

The stars that glitter, the winds that sigh,

Are kin to your breath, your gaze, your sky.

And so the night, though meant for sleep,

Became a gift the spirit keeps.

A canvas painted with light so rare,

That even in shadows, love was there.

The bright night glowed with timeless grace,

Holding eternity’s gentle face.

And every heart beneath its sight,

Was healed, was lifted, by the bright night.