Caricamento in corso...

The Midnight Hour

There is something within
The quiet, midnight hours;
The respite when I close my eyes
And leave the trembling shell
Of a brave new world
To sail the untouched seas
Of great, unfolding mysteries.
Buried by the hands of fretful thoughts,
We are keeper and we are the key.
Is it possible to be what we are not?
How can the limitless not be free?
 
In the world of barren vagaries,
Of symbol and of cipher,
The deeply obsessive penumbra
Need not become us.
Nothing here can dim the light
That chooses to burn and ever ignite.
The arrows inside the compass
Of our wandering minds
Spin with extremities
That can only point within.    
And my love drips like wax
From the candle of the unknowable.
 
We could all have been born
A desperate man,
Where hunger and thirst
And vengeance came first.
What makes us all so different?
And we cannot seem to know
If we are friend or foe.
I am a protector of my own destiny
When I choose to let love in -
And I do not choose it alone.
For the dreamers are all dreaming,
The fearful are already dead.
Is it more than just a shadow
That lives inside our head?
The dreamers are believing
As we walk the world confused,
For the ego has its cunning
And can keep the world amused.
I looked into its time-trapped heart
And thought, “Well, this must be the matter of matter.
For one to have more,
Another must have less.”
But nothing is lost by giving love,
For it will always return.
 
On and on it spins inside my mind
And they come and go in droves,
Looking out and fretting over envelops,
And I am looking in.
I am breathing deep.
I look into a mirror of myself.
The measure we give
Is the measure we get,
And the world cannot silence
The voice inside me yet.
“Hello! Hello!” I hear in passing,
And they tell me their troubles
That their heart is amassing.
Is this the way of the poet?
 
A doe traversing the quiet midnight hour
Leapt into the meadows of the unknown,
And she and I were sailing the sea
Of a great, unfolding mystery.
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