The Cold Sun of Midnight

I sleep upon the windowpane 
And the glass cracks under my face
Like lightning from my breath 
The night below is strange;
Captured stars howling
On streets and in houses 
As people dance
To hide the shadow of their shame
I can smell their perfume here
Thirty stories high
Scent filled with lost sleep and sadness 
It numbs me
My throat, my voice
And I choke without a choice 
(Should I shift? Should I turn?
I do…and the thunder swims to my belly
The glass gasps
But the shattering never comes)

Sound of a million footsteps 
Collapse into a single chord
Time’s thread
This linear, pinpoint eternity 
Do I merge or do I dare
Far foolish when being aware
That there are no ripples in the ocean
Just reflections of the air
Lives, candles 
Last days in wreath
Desire turned dream
Dream turned to death 

I now see the eyelashes 
Left by a lost time
For cinders on the shore
For hearts saying no more
For children born sans choice
Once people now toys
And so the dying swans dance 
Vying for a chance
To nibble the breadcrumbs 
Of broken down plans
And I, this vain, stitched flesh in pain
Lie supine, and divine, my tears through rain
And sing against the chorus
Those verses that say
Ask and you shall get
And to get you must pray
As if prayers are questions 
As if questions would find a way
As if ways would take me home
As if home is for what I pray

So I await
Under the cold sun of midnight 
Watching myself
Falling out of sight
First a man
Then a memory 
Now a stranger  
Forever a stray
A silhouette 
Some shadow 
All silence 
Is what I say