The hour grows late
And only one man is conscious
To witness the mystery of twelve
As the moon and stars and clouds reveal all.

He sits in his room
Dark and gloomy save for the pale moonlight
Streaming in through his windows
Blessing his spotted and ragged rug.

He sits in an old wooden chair
Watching the trees outside his window
Swaying as if moved by the moonlight
Flirting with the stars and waving to the clouds.

The darkness is the only thing that remains constant
For in the midnight hour
One can only assume
It is forever.

Crazy thoughts enter his head
As the darkness feeds his mind
Why is light hailed as good
When darkness is forever?

Light was started by god
Or so they say
But before that
There was the dark.

Darkness will endure
It will never die before the light
It will be removed from sight
But will return all too soon.

An owl flies by his window
Purging his mind of thoughts of darkness
He focuses on its majestic wingspan
How free the creature must feel.

And in his thoughts he grows weary
As fatigue weighs heavily on his body
The man bids farewell to midnight
And a loving hello to his pillow.
 
Copyright © warriorpoet, All Rights Reserved