Hidden in the smell of old books
Is a hint of somewhere I was,
Someone I used to be, in distant memory.

The midnight mist softens
The sharp glare of yellow streetlamps,
And the pinpoints of the stars,
And the haunting glow of the moon,
But the lights on the Christmas tree
Twinkle endlessly.

Some people are paid to work
Overnight, but I pay to do so
In hours of daylight, and
Hours of sleep lost forever.

The night has always held
A special fascination for me,
Ever since I heard the echoes
Of feet on the pavement
Under cover of darkness.

I used to dream of walking
Under the stars and the moon,
In a world populated
Only by me and the trees and buildings.
And sometimes my wistful eyes
Turn to the world as it slumbers,
And I wish that I was the only one
To walk those peaceful streets.

Sometimes, I think of
Empty hillsides and deserted country roads
With the stars to guide me
And the moon to pour its unique
Quicksilver over everything.

One day, I will watch again
The frost forming under my feet,
And see the multitude of stars
As they clamour for what little
Space there is in our sky.

Maybe when the mist clears.

12/18/2001

Posted on 12/19/2001
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince