Shall always morning return? Does mundan power never ends? Unblessed busyness consumes the heavenly arrival of night. Will never love's secret sacrifice burn forever? Light got its time set; but without time and space is the reign of night. - Ever is the lasting of sleep. Holy sleep - do not visit the consecrated of night too seldom in their every day's work. Only the fools don't know you and do not know sleep, safe the shadow you through in the dawn of the true night mercily on us. They do not feel you in the golden stream of the grapes - in the almond tree's miracle oil, and the brown juice of the poppy. They don't know that it is you circling around the tender girls bosom and makes the lap to heaven - they do not know that you from old tales come to us opening the sky and carry the key to the houses of the blesses, infinte secrets silent messenger. Novalis (Friedrich von Hardenberg), Hymns to the Night, 2

The night from sunday to monday

The sun sets, the moon rise
If I had a time machine, to stop time
so monday would never come
to perpetuate this slight depression forever

Want to be a submarine, to hide deep under the surface
Want to be a spaceship, hidden in interstellar space
My blanket is my castle-wall
Want to escape to a fourth dimension

To sit back and watch the woes of working people.
The later I start sleeping, the later monday will come.
Cold winds blow, the person in my arm is miles away
Monday will never come.

Working at night

Everything flows, full of lightning energy
no doubt, no hesitation
the work evolves itself

It needs the day (the clear morning)
to erase the errors, join the parts
the daylight to understand, learn, improve, correct

But now it is night. The beach
between being too self-critically and too tired,
A small window, my life

Not I keep writing, it writes, the hour of grace.
I am no more. I stopped to exist.
I will not return untill tomorrow.

Hate the winter (hate the autumn). Once I fell in love, I wrote a poem:

You are the sun,
*******,
You are the moon and the stars.

When it is pitch-dark
You do not want to come.
But if the plum trees
In moon light blosom at night
Wether you may leave the house?

Ki-no-Iratsume, Manyoshu

Night, street, lantern, pharmacy,
The light is senseless dim and pale.
Go further on your Lifeline -
No exit. All stays the same.

You die - start another time.
And again, before you recognize:
Street, cold ruffle in the sewer,
Latern, pharmacy, night.

Alexander Blok