6 o clock in the morning and venus is still shining defiantly above the sun,
It matters not nonetheless, she will fade soon like everything else,
The morning floods every crack and crevice
But it drowns out everything above
The subtle finer beauties, that's why I always say, can only be found in absence of the sun.

Little by little the creatures of the night retreat back into the shade,
And the turtles return to the raging sea,
Soon the crows will come out, sweeping away all the other birds,
Turning a finely tuned orchestra, to endless blaring of car horns and toasters and unattractive bickering.
I contemplate to fade with them, the morning is too bright for me, the night as well.
What else can I find here, I don't know.
Somewhere between the deafening black of Jupiter and Mars lies my greatest poem.
That's where I should be

Love is the sea and I am the lighthouse
I burn every night to give it my everything.
It, in return, has given everything to gradually lessen me
It has distracted me of my main concern, to count every star in the sky
Stars can so easily be lost if one is not focusing.
Is that a dust particle? A boeing 747? An angel?
I will never know.
I was too busy running from the crows,
As they peck me to death
It really is too beautiful right now to kill myself
But perhaps a bit too loud