The Spell of Midnight Sonnets

When dull and dreary fetters of broad day

Relinquish their command in blue-tongued sighs

When rudiments of failure slip away

Dissolving in vast, velvet-throated skies

Where present-tense in brief, laconic gasp

Expands the ageless crease of history

And this small day is clenched within the grasp

Of what is done and never more will be

I bow my head; for lessons still unlearned

In open-handed chances I have spurned

***

The spell of midnight holds a fearless mirror

And yet I’m drawn to gaze into its glass

Although reflected folly is much clearer

In the dark; than on noon-tides sun-kissed grass

I am inclined to crumble in despair

Repeated follies are a bitter lot

And in the judgment of night’s onyx air

I cower ‘neath the gavel of my thought

But then I bow my head; tears cleanse my face

I have no need to dread, because of grace

***

Of grand and glorious offering, I have none

And to disguise my empty-handed shame

Is but to multiply and thus condone

My heedlessness for which I bear all blame

The accusations which distress the dark

Would rule in favor of the plaintiff’s cry

But wait; the spell of midnight light’s a spark

A glimpse of hope pierces the dark-robed sky

I bow my head in trite, penitent prayer

God’s grace revokes my sentence of despair

© Janet Martin