The Midnight Hour
Daytime blues, waiting for the beguiling midnight hour,
The clock strikes twelve, my mind floats free above,
On an old rustic dream boat,
Sailing with a south-west wind, blowing on the wide blue ocean,
Plenty of time, for plenty of notions,
Reaching inwardly to the past, searching for that elusive magic potion,
Like a silky cream lotion, caressing my warm tingling body,
Music plays from my cherry red lips,
Like the sound of the haunting tune of the flute,
Your face appears before me, so endearingly cute,
My eyes hunt for your inner mysterious persona,
Sensations, celebrations, my first love,
With passions reaching so high above,
If only I had been wise then, played the game differently,
I wonder would you have loved me too,
The surprise is I still long for my sweet song,
Melody without melancholy,
Truth without your cunning,
A price to be paid,
To high for mixed up me,
The midnight hour has turned wickedly sour,
I long for the enchantment,
I long for me.
poem by Hazel Durham
Added by Poetry Lover
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