A late night verse.

After lying awake for what had seemed an eternity, I finally got up to start writing, not knowing what to write about.

I wrote a poem.

in the sleepless night
one simply lies awake
alas they lose this fight
for of this time, something to make

to sit without a sound
to lie without moving
by silence one is bound
but the mind is ever running

the silence s deafening
lost in this dark room
these thoughts shattering
but for the comfort of a womb

though the black is at a pitch
hardly the darkest hour
and for a friend one would wish
meanwhile the rain doth pour

through a country window
to see only the dark
lonely like the widow
to remember that park

to sit without a sound
to lie without moving
by silence two were bound
but their minds ever running

An introduction.

I feel as though I owe an introduction of sorts.

If you have happened to stumble on this here Blog, you probably already know my name. If not, Hananiah is the name my parents gave me, and I love it ever so much!
My best friend rarely calls me that, and if she does, I know I'm in trouble. She, instead, started the nickname "Niah" which is by far my favorite nickname of all time! And now all my closest friends call me that.

I am a simple man, to the view of the hawk perched on a limb, viewing from a distance…but to the mockingbird, who sings its beautiful songs for my heart to hear, and rests its wings long enough to see how my mind flies, I am but a complex soul. 
I can't decide if my wings are clipped, or just have simply been tucked in for so long that I don't know how, or what it feels like to spread them.
I'm not saying I'm trapped or held down here, not at all. I simply mean to say that this soul is tired; not from constant movement, but from too much rest.

I wouldn't trade the memories, the tears, the friendships lost, or the ever so many gained; the 117 acres I live on, or even the *used-to-be-a-barn* house I live in.
It's the little things in life, such as mentioned above, that make the music in my life.
Sometimes it's a sad song, or even a happy upbeat punk rock song, or maybe a loud dubstep album, but none the less, I would die without my music. And I dare say, my closest friends make quite the composers!

I live on the outskirts of a freight town. By "freight town" I mean train freight.
The town I speak of is the type of town where everyone is either related, distantly related, or might as well be related.
It's also a farm town, for surrounding the city, for miles, are crop farmers, dairy farmers, meat farmers, and the farmers who mostly just own a lot of land.

While I may live where I'm surrounded by farm life, old ford trucks and country boys, that is not all my life entails, and I'll try to refrain from making that the focus.

I'm the youngest of seven. But of course I've had plenty of moments when I felt as though I were an only child, or how an adopted child sometimes feels out of place, or like I have but one friend, and even he was imaginary.
This said, you probably got the idea that my younger days were a bit of cloudy skies...that is true. But I've had just as much clear skies of joyous days as well, don't forget that.

The first five years of my life were spent in a little house I remember very little of in Denver Colorado. I only remember the little things such as the back yard and the driveway....
We moved here, to the middle of the west of nowhere; nowhere being Missouri.
The only time I ever wished we had stayed was when we'd lived here for a month, and I missed the sidewalks cause I wanted to ride my bike.
I wouldn't trade this place for anything, though.

So, if you've the patience and have made it this far, I applaud you. But now I must bring this introduction to an end, though a lack of eloquence it may have, I bid thee farewell. 

That's all for now, until next time.

~Hananiah