Midnight and the Shadows.
Midnight drips down from the clouds
the sky, infected by her despair turns to ash,
and the grand Concords of heaven mourn
burning the world with their bitter tears,
tears of acid.
Brine from the breeze sticks silver
in the night
glittering with the sand stuck in it,
and the face of midnight sets 12 eyes
on the faces of the fallen.
Twisted in their misery of disgrace
torment is the deep set lines on their faces,
ageless to times touch
and the acid drips in time with midnight
much to mortal displeasure.
The snowfall turns skin to porcelain
becoming ash in the mouths of the innocent
setting them apart from the world of sinners
Midnight marks them as hers
claiming the purest, leaving the world to suffer their sins.
As night sets his hands in,
the innocent:
turn their wrists skyward
turn the bottle upside down
and line up the pills
just in time for the tolls of midnight to echo into the darkness.
Once, twice and the wrists are sliced
seventh, eighth another drink take
eleventh, twelfth, no more pill bottles on the shelf
no more minutes to midnight
and beating hearts, pure and black, slow.
Midnight gathers her children,
casting them black shadows falling
growing and creating
an image of herself in the light of day
always some part of her in the moon or in the sun
until Midnight calls them to her again.
Copyright © Rhia Madison Thomer | Year Posted 2009
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