Midnight beckons, a dream and a storm,
by steps of darkness on an unseen horizon.
A red flash of danger, beyond the norm,
we are men, we are ghosts, and soon alive.
The warning passes and the threat is gone,
what tale have we to tell, or truth contrive?
The song is broken, the strings as silent,
for the moment, for a breath, held lightly.
Like a reed, like smoke, is our moment,
moving, shifting, fading, into the shadows.
Fragile as a cloud, though rising mightily,
the thought returns, and the melody flows.
The sun is near, the warmth is a new day,
and my company is as a dream I once knew.
I am whole, and I am lost to find my way,
with faith as my guide, to the familiar voice.
I knew the difference and I knew you too,
the gravel road revealing every new choice.
My symphony is in the trees, the seasons,
when countless forgotten mornings pass by.
You are nearer, hands holding the reasons,
they are yours and they are mine so recently.
Need I ever wonder, here, just you and I,
as tender years move along, ever discretely.
Brian Francis Hudon
May 10, 2012
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