Pre-dawn hours shy from me
And dawn remains a stranger,
Midnight breaks the shadows free
And holds my heart’s desire.
Ideas shift and bend in bough
Dreaming of the page,
Where eyes may someday peel them free
And bless the gift of phrase.
I have to slow my frazzled pace
Though fearing that I can’t,
Capture fleeting seconds, minutes,
Coax them into dance,
For time alone can steal my voice
None other has the power,
’Tis I who make the final choice
On how to spend my hours.
So midnight, hold your arms out wide
I’ll fall to your embrace,
Carry me to death if prized
But let me leave a trace.
~ Leana Delle
Sunday, February 3, 2019
Number four of fifty-two in The Year of Sunday Poems challenge.