Hush, pay heed, to those dark midnight
stirrings,
To those scuttling, heaving & soft
silent purrings,
Those who slip & skulk, beneath night´s
satin sheet,
To all those who hide & those, who in
secret, meet.
Listen to that feral wolf, howling upon
yonder hill,
To that opal moonlight, kissing sleepy
window sills,
The owl´s mantled hoot, garbed in haunting
mist,
The tombstone caressed by ivy, & very
gently kissed.
Heed filigreed moments, of moon-moth´s
silent wails,
And slow-slippered soirees, of
silver-slicked old snails,
To creaking coffin lids & the dead, in
their gentle sighing,
The stirrings of midnight prayers, upon
knees, softly dying.
Listen to the bat within his cloisters,
soft & sadly weeping,
To the black cat hidden, within cold ivy,
quietly creeping,
Hark to the dreamed voices heard, within
the Angels breath,
Mere gentle stirrings, upon the breast of
midnight´s death.
Churnings silenced, in dawn´s swallowing of
church-clock chime,
When whispered midnight stirrings, slip
through ether of lost time,
When those heads upon sleepy pillows, cease
in morn, to dream,
Left pondering upon old echoes, of those
passing midnight screams.
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