Light, on the Ceiling of Midnight
You were my strange listener
The one who sat there, beside me
When the light bulb in the
Bedside lamp burned out,
And left me, alone,
And without a reflection
You, the wearer of my forgiveness
In a world, sometimes filled with laughter,
A world, of sometimes fear,
A world, sometimes void of light,
And a sometimes world, of tears
And you listened
You and I,
We sat huddled
‘neath the twisted and bent leaves
Of our old aspen tree,
Where you carved my soul
Into the rarified wood
Of the strong, hardened trunk
Of a compassionate tree,
Which even the bitterest of tears
Could not destroy
And you led me through the mangled
Mirrors of midnight,
Took me by the hand, and showed me
That I really did have a reflection
After all.
And it was then, that I knew.
I now know what’s hidden
Behind the smile, the love,
The yearning, and behind the tears
It’s you, my dear muse, my writing, my salvation
How many muses does it take to change a light bulb?
Just one, my friend, but once lit,
You emit the most gloriously radiant light.
And it makes me wonder, whatever did I do, before I met you?
© 2008 Morning Song
(All rights reserved)
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