The Hour Is Late
Midnight has struck me once again,
wounding me with a soft whisper.
I can't remember where I've been,
but I'm left clinging to a glass slipper.
I wish the day were still young,
when the morning light danced in your eyes.
Time is too short in the warmth of the sun,
everything beautiful withers and dies.
We will meet again on a distant star,
glance over your shoulder from time to time.
For Heaven's gate is not that far,
just drop down a dream for me to climb.
8/8/19
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 10
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Copyright © Wren Rushing | Year Posted 2019
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