Forging into the longest nights
wearing blanket as a battle suit.
The empty room is not the battle field;
the darkness is not his enemy.
It seems it gets easier,
he has built what he believed,
trailed to rekindle passion,
and longed for what has lost.
Still, he praised where he came short
and despaired what he did most.
He gazes at the ceiling and keeps
figuring what is beyond the farthest.
But he knows, to end the war is not to denude
what he cannot see, but it is something easier.
It is not about seeing the night,
and it is not about being fleshed out.
It is to breathe the morning.
