Dear Midnight, my favourite hour,
when the rest of the house is asleep.
I’m still up watching TV
like an amateur, petty thief.
“What time do you call this?”
Is the voice I hear, if I’m caught out at play,
but I’ll answer to it in the morning,
while I’m yawning over the new day.
Dear Midnight, you sneak in so peacefully,
you steal into my heart and my home.
Fewer cars speed down the highway,
only cats are out there to roam.
Guided by stars and the moon,
I snuggle under your weight,
blame you for the empty wrappers,
Midnight, you sly old thing.
Dear Midnight, are you a rascal?
We are long-familiar friends,
some nights I stay up writing,
my memories, hopes and dreams.
Somehow it seems to flow better
when you are around.
Dear Midnight, my love,
my silent, companionable muse.
The image is taken from the prompt Midnight Letters Prompt #16, which this time was asking for a poem. The poem is quite straightforward. It personifies the midnight hour as a quiet, intimate and little bit mischevious friend. I enjoy this hour as it's solely mine and often find it a good time to write. So it's a celebration of quietude, reflection and connection. Although I also admit to using the time to watch TV and snack. In essence my poem celebrates midnight as a special, almost mystical time that nurtures the soul, sparks creativity, and provides peace amid the chaos of daily life.