In the Midnight Hour

In the Midnight Hour …

In a quiet room,

in the midnight hour,

the poet sat,

waiting for sweet inspiration.

His hands upon the keyboard,

waiting  in the dim light,

then slowly the chorus began

and the muses were singing.

Far into the night,

while the poet wrote,

they brought sweet inspiration

and verses like rivers did flow.

When the poet was done,

in the early morning hour,

as the sky began to streak with light,

he felt happy and sated –

lulled by verses.

Came the following night,

as the sky brought the purple twilight.

The poet poured a glass of wine,

to sit and greet the coming night.

He wondered if the muses,

would begin to sing,

when somewhere bells began to ring.

Looking up toward the skies,

he saw the brilliant smile,

of his lost love.

So radiant was she,

that her beauty filled his very heart and soul.

Descended the darkness,

a nighttime concerto,

began to play.,

The light of the moon glowed,

he saw  his love beckoning to him,

it was like a dream,

like reality

and as he took her hand –

around the garden to dance they began.

The poet didn’t know,

if this was a dream

or reality.

As he danced, his love smiled,

the stars sprinkled,

gold dust upon them.

The muses began to sing,

Nightingales joined in chorus,

sated the poet’s heart beat faster.

He awoke in the garden,

as the first red streaks of dawn,

flashed across the skies.

Beside him, a red rose,

which he knew meant I love you still.

Paper and pen upon the grass

and a poem that confirmed –

their love would last.

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Rasma Raisters

I am a poet and writer. I write for many different sites online. I have two published books of poems on Amazon - Poetic Thoughts Fly and On the Wings of Love.

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