One Minute Past Midnight poem by Michael Eliseuson


One minute past midnight,
The bird of light flees before the wind,
Flies off to warn,
Messenger of midnights past and present,
This one scorns our love, our peace, our failures,
Midnight comes by blazing glares of light too bright,
So blinds us all,
In the waitings.

One minute past midnight,
The soul is rent,
The mind withers,
The emotions writhe,
Winged serpents flee also,
Before their own wind,
Wind with no spirit,
No soul,
Empty winds in an empty sky,
Cloudless and drained.

In patchworks we plead,
In patchworks we are answered,
Empty solutions promising nothing,
But war and greed and hate and despair,
Empty are we when the hearts are bleeding,
Empty are we when children wail,
Everywhere the children are wailing,
And we are waiting, truly.

Armies march and ships steam to tell us so,
The midnight hours come like waves,
All boats rock and armies parry,
Before the final thrust.

Tyrants rise to tell us so,
Kings before the flood,
In the commons of hate,
We are bad wheat among the stones,
And so the loaf of peace rots,
While we all wait.


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