Midnight is such a curious time, far from dusk, further from dawn, yet the middle, the end, the restart.
The midnight sky becomes a sweet embrace of starry black, a fresh chance to dream anew.
With hands toward the heavens, midnight arrives.
In the middle of a midnight song,
Came the parakeet,
A bird of flame,
A bird of deep indigo's keep,
And into that blessed night,
Of it's own song it gave,
Not born of fright,
Nor for mirth or sonnet's might,
Yet for rekindling of heaven's fire.
Midnight comes as perfect black, the true companion of every good night.
Midnight blue deepens over a broad and starlit sky.
Every end is a beginning and midnight is just the same.