By Bill Reynolds
Be comforted when midnight comes,
As it’s the darkest of times.
The death of this day marks a spell.
The birth of tomorrow’s new hope.
Soon the witching hour begins as so
Little good happens, post the final hour.
To some, midnight’s a time of painful suffering,
As with the line between life and death.
Find peace and warmth in the face
Of the change – the end of one day.
But for another we live, and then
Feeling recharged we’ll be free to see.
After our true self is off,
Without lie or pretense,
To bargain away the universe,
To have a brand-new day.
We must pass through the portal
Of darkness, and woe.
Thus, awakening of the new.
Look both ways each new day, and mind the gaps at night.