Like our reluctant hero on the previous page, Robin Ward has an issue with waking up at night. (Editor)
When I awaken into the night, this is what I feel;
Coldness rolls over my skin - the air like a thick smoke of melting ice. With the moonlights brightness, there comes no warmth. Warmth is found in the smaller things; the misaligned spectrum of pencils in the boxes, the paintbrushes with dried artworks hanging from their ends, the perfectly stacked books - half read, half hidden masterworks.
When I awaken into the night, this is what I see;
Through burning, hungry pupils I note soft blues and whites dripping from moon-blessed surfaces. I see the shapes of my furniture, my clothes - emerging from the dark first. The truest view of identity is reflected; and yet, why is it just an un-clean mirror? My eyes, now crawling over the walls, watch for... No matter - I've found more mirrors.
When I awaken into the night;
I feel. I see. I fall into the covers of sleep. Then, like the dreams that fade to inconclusive ends, all this is forgotten - although I remember these moments, I walk into a dream that I have constructed, and I fill its greys with colour. I find heightened imagination within the walls of evenings and nights; the moon through watercolour clouds shines briefly upon a greater truth, which even the forceful light of sun cannot expose. As I flavour my emotions with salt, I realise uncovering the Venetian mask of great thoughts, requires war-paint-thoughts of subtlety.
About the author My name is Robin Ward, I am 17 and currently coming to the end of my two year IB course at St John's Marlborough. During time away from working I am an avid volunteer of Marlborough Brandt's Fairtrade Steering group, alongside my personal interests of writing and music. I find great enjoyment in the expression of ideas and emotions through language and sound - and as such when the opportunity arose to have a small snippet of my creative writing formally published, I leapt at the chance.
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