Midnight Bells
The world descends into darkness
with each turning wheel of the sun.
Our hearts grow heavy with starkness,
an emptiness we can’t outrun.
In the black pit of midnight,
we do not fall asleep.
We welcome the year with solemn might,
yet by break of day, our vows don’t keep.
We grasp at frivolous dreams,
believing they might save us still.
The world unravels at the seams
as power, looks, and lust shape will.
We toast to new ambitions—
the promotion, the figure, the balance.
All self-focused missions
to build our private palace.
But the grain must die,
or it withers alone.
Self-focus is a subtle lie
that beneath the world’s weight groans.
Yet with each crisp ring,
the old bells still call—
atop the steeple, they sing,
arms spread wide to break our fall.
How long will we wander
in this murky midnight hour,
promised better dreams yonder,
only to turn our souls sour?
All the while, He waits
and counts down time.
As we count up, clocking fate,
He counts down to the final line.
Midnight bells—
they ring,
they sing.
Oh, those midnight bells,
a truth
we cannot mute.
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