Stroke of Midnight




 Stroke of Midnight

the village clock strikes midnight…so many cannot sleep

they bare the lonely silence, avoiding thoughts too deep

and in each room’s a shadow that draws when their alone

all the people shun it’s path with a method of their own…


the accountant out of college lies pondering great success

devotes each hour of every day, never taking time to rest

yet when he stops to think, he feels the weight like chains

then wears his books like blinders to cauterize the pain


there’s the rich, old gossip lady who has so many ‘friends’

that strain their ears to listen and wonder what of them

now who’s there left to talk to as she twists and turns in bed

she firmly grips her blanket and pulls it over her head


watch the Pharisee who’s praying – god forgive their deeds

i’ve not missed church in twenty years, my soul’s completely freed

rising form his bended knee, he staggers like he’s lame

and turning from the mirror’s view, he lives his lies again


see the housewife live her soapers from ten o’clock ‘til four

anything to pass the time, although she longs for more

her heart seems like the vacant lot where her children play their games

she casts herself in The Edge of Night, yet still remains the same


here’s one looking thru his bottle saying – love and life’s unfair

i used to search for honesty, but now i just don’t care

as a bubble gently rises on its journey to the top

it passes his reflection…he shudders as it pops


yea, the writer’s world’s a battleground, words are unto stones

a culprit is an empty page, a fugitive’s not yet known

the skirmish is the village clock and he opens both his eyes

wonder sharp as arrows make symbol and thought align


Athens, Ohio ‘77


Intro Image
- "photowalk_67" by © Maria O'Brien
Empact Image - "Monsters in busling" by Thomas Clyde

Play "Stroke of Midnight" recited by Melanie Quintos







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