A Touch of Midnight
H. W. Bryce
There’s A touch of midnight in the air,
And, a touch of cold shoulder showing.
She would not dance with me.
No nod, no hello, and me not knowing
What the matter might be
Dusk has fallen, darkness now sets in,
Malancholy couples with the night,
Forlorn as falling leaves into a bin,
I wander, chewing on my plight.
There’s a touch of midnight in the air,
The chill runs up my spine.
The streets are blank, the lights are out,
And all I can do is pine.
But
The empty space is not as empty as it seems,
It is filled with air, the wind is there,
It’s filled up with melancholy sighs
That the wind passes on to the trees.
Yes, there’s a touch of midnight in the air
Wearing the patina of age, slightly worn,
Lightly rusted and I
Sometimes feeling busted, yet…
Yet, I walk,
And yet I talk,
And yet…I AM,
And what you see,
And it ain’t necessarily so,
What you see,
If you look a little closer,
Is ME.
I’m still Alive !!!
Oh, but there’s a touch of midnight in the air,
It can chill your bones to the marrow,
Yet midnight comes before the sunrise
And melts away in the morning air.
Listen to the sparrow.
And yet I walk.
And yet I walk.
I walk right through the midnight air,
I walk off that mighty chill,
That chill that comes with the midnight air.
I walk away from that chill,
That touch of chill in the midnight air.
Image by Aryok from Pixabay
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