Midnight Spring

I steal glances at the purple haze of the sky;
the moon a pulsating heartbeat in the bosom of the night.
I press my ear against it and it spells all its secrets
such is the tender enchantment of a spring midnight.

The flowers sit in meadows, washed by a silken dew,
their shadows sewn to their petals, they are
Pirates of the night
sailing over to the moon in a black ship of velvet;
shrouded by clouds of pink smoke, that wisp
into a shower of crystal clear rain, washing
the world below to a marble castle of dreams.


I follow the wind, as it journeys among the trees
sighing when in love, whispering when alive, keeping
up with the songs that blackbirds sing to the night.
I sleep in its alcove, under its mighty wings, resting
on its feathery bed of pure plushmink.
I flow in its trail across thousand mystic miles
amidst silent, snow-capped mountains where sound is a vice.
I hear my voice echo, confronted by every waterfall, every rock,
through pebbles, pits and hills and back to me.

I see the magic of midnight spring, the sun is not just what shines,
I see it haunt the night with its youthful, its beautiful whims,
I see it caress flowers and touch and fill them in,
I see, I see , the midnight spring.