Midnight Morning

The midnight eve, is in repreive,

The stars and moon are bleak.

The masked and broken kind of man,

Hides from all whom seek.

I ask not for forgiveness from,

Mankind beseeching, kindly done.

And dreams will wake and falter,

The shadow of the alter.

The book, alone sits on the shelf,

Its nook, a dry and written self.

The story ends where it begins,

The dead will burn for all their sins.

And finally with the bloom of light,

The morn is torn to natures sight.

Until the birds they soar when woke,

Eating from the dirt they speak.

Their songs are one of beauty,

Their wings they glide unruly,

As the leader of the soaring pack,

Gives the hint of the attack.

And finally fed is natures womb,

As the many flowers bloom.