In the Midnight Hour


A frightening thought during the midnight hour…

Something so beautiful as you, crying in desperation.

How can beauty be hit so hard?

Where had my fevered mind traveled?

The woods of ash and hemlock surround the bed dipped by morning dew…

made black and blue.

My illicit youth became a blackened mirror to the truth…

Fevered pitch ran from the pines asking not ‘what if.’

But is left to do.

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