Poetry, On the Roof.

The night moved with the grace of light fingers,
playing with my hair soft as a lover.
It's touch was light but it didn't linger,
Its moved like a taunt that lasted forever.

Its left a gentle chill that robbed me of sleep,
My mind was tired, my limbs were heavy.
My betraying eyes closed I couldn't keep.
Sleep eluded me no matter the levy.

The roof was open with a hard cement floor,
Sharp edges stabbed at the sky like a knife.
But it held a secret I alone knew more
Up here, the sounds echoed away the strife.

The wooden guitar was light, strung with gut,
Its twang was heaven and its notes crisp.
The notes from my soul flowed and cut,
The music from my soul flowed like a wisp.

The sleepy city heard my song from far above,
But none spoke up, no one screamed for quiet,
For one perfect moment, the air was beloved,
Only the silence once shattered dared to riot.

With a song ended the silence reigned,
I put it down and felt the sleepy night,
The restlessness had gone and drained,
And I closed my eyes to the sight.