The Lonely Blogger

When the world is softly silent,
When all is still,
And dreams of dreams before,
Quietly, I tiptoe,
By the dim kitchen light
Bare feet upon the icy floor.

And then I think, in my nighttime reverie
How the world is sleeping, not a soul awake, but me.

A cup of coffee by the keyboard,
Thoughts in my mind,
And the screen a ghostly face I face,
A comforting sadness,
How strangely serene,
To be, yet not be, in this place.

And then I muse, a jumbled potpourri
Of a desperate feeling, that there’s no one else, but me.

No one else, but me
Quietly I breathe
How silent is the night tonight
Then letter by letter,
Key by key,
Pieces of me carved into every word that I write.

And I’d like to imagine, in all of eternity,
That somewhere out there, someone reads what I write,
Someone else, but me.