Midnight hours. Times of the mind.
Journey the future, the past behind.
Open a door to stairways showing.
Look to the moonlight always glowing.
Stars are our ladders to escape into
The fantasy or fairy tale we all want to.
Leap around from star to star.
But when you fall, watch how far.
For if you fail to recover soon,
You could be injured from the moon.
Edges of knives with sharp little blades.
You are the wish somebody made.
But if you reach to catch a ride
Upon the clouds, you might survive.
It’s a lonely little journey for one to take.
Too many gambles for one to make.
Yet every night at the same time,
We are once again disturbed by the chime.
The warning of creation into the land
That solely belongs to those who are at hand.
For those who are aware of this setting,
Make your bids, let’s start the betting.

2-8-1990
Written by Gail Brookshire