Thursday, July 27, 2017
Middle of the Night
Betwixt the hours of dark and dawn,
When sleepy soul has naught to hide?
The erudite can only yawn,
And seek clear vision to retain;
As soundless screams of passion fire
Echo across a lake of pain;
To awaken sleeping desire,
And stoke bright flames, that intellect
With its fast frozen heart of ice,
Seeks from myself to me protect--
And yet seems never to suffice.
From deep, an aching tenor springs
A heartsong filled with all it yearns
To life, and weeping as it sings,
Full reaps the reason that it earns.
Yet, still the fire burns in my core,
Banked warm against life's bitter frost.
Then write l must, and write some more,
To feed the fires and pay the cost.
So, in the early morning hours,
When most are fast in slumber's thrall,
l seek to circumvent those powers,
l strain that slice of death to stall,
By alchemy of food and drink.
But age and nature have conspired,
In league with common sense, l think,
To always make sure l get tired...
I actually awoke in the middle of the night, to write about waking in the middle of the night, to write about waking in the middle of the night to write. I think. It was August 2003 when wrote down the idea, but could not stay awake to finish the thought.
Posted by Mick at 2:27 PM