Midnight... A Sonnet

Into the argent aftermath of Time

The fringes of this little day dissolve

And still the moments muster brave resolve

Dauntless they tumble from mute midnight’s clime

Where diamond daisies strew its meadowland

In regions boundless and unfathomed; vast

There is no future nor present and past

No seasons shifting this galactic strand

But here the moment-flow of hours rush

Illusive surge; weightless consuming force

Skimming earth’s canvas with a subtle brush

Youth slows beneath its ethereal discourse

Of fine-spun gossamer and evening blush

We are the Riders on a restless horse

The spinning-wheel of moments will not still

The Master-weaver is in full command

While baby drifts through fantasy’s dreamland
 And midnight blots from view the distant hill

The hour does not pause when it is full

Each year bleeds seamlessly into the next

Toward the unveiling of its pretext

Beneath this vapid seed and harvest hull

Where the postlude of mortal moment flows

Relentless in its joy and sorrow surge

Whispered in breezes where the bracken blows

And willows weep an everlasting dirge

The spinning-wheel of moments never slows

Until past-present-future will converge

But onward now toward our dreams we ride

Life’s vim is not restrained by reigns of Time

And happiness is not a thing sublime

Withheld until we reach the other Side

Against Time’s restless horse we kick our heels

Midnight echoes the pounding of its feet

The dust settles in memories bittersweet

We close our eyes and view its phantoms reels

And now the midnight rouses keen resolve

To cherish carefully our measured lot

Smooth, the consumption of its breaths dissolve

And soon today is but an afterthought

Where legacies of our loves evolve

The Rider and the Horse will soon be caught

© Janet Martin