The Midnight that Wasn't: a poem

Midnight was a lifetime
That stretched into a road,
The kind that you could see
Nothing beyond the yawning peak,
Like a highway to the stars.

Midnight here was all I knew,
Surest and truest,
Like the pinprick of blood
That blooms like a budding rose
On the canvas of never-ending skin.

Midnight was the scavenger
That scoured the scene
In the quiet glow of twilight’s moon,
A raven’s wing, torn and drenched
In the crimson tears that crept down its back.

Midnight was the sound of screams
That shuddered through the air;
It was the rancid breath of fear,
Thirsty for my hands in yours,
Gasping for air.

Midnight was the colour of your eyes
Staring back at the lonely night –
Still, unblinking – yet
Searching for me,
Just not saying a word.


Hope you enjoyed it.

~ Joyce