Later, the infamous night traveler
always feather tips away from grasp
Always promised like the sunrise or high tide
Always slipping away, never to be opened again like the cardboard box in the ceiling
But Why?
Whos to say that the sun will rise?
Why?
How must we know and put our faith into the phases of the moon?
Why is because in an instant, A thunderclap, a tidal wave
Breaking down the uncertainty and heartbreak to replace all of the dull throbbings
With a blinding pain of pure truth and realization
More harmful than any other,
And then you know,
The night traveler, the broken sunset, is here,
And it is now later.