Chorus So Sublime

The clock strikes midnight,

It’s sound reaching down,

For the twisting alleys.

It lands on one wall,

Then kicks off,

Spinning to the next. 

The twelve strikes,

They dance,

Proceeding in their own playful fashion.

They come to tangle in two lover’s feet,

Reminding both of the time,

While the stars gently laugh.

They pull apart, 

Their breath freezing in the night air,

And they part ways,

With nothing but a smile between them,

For that’s all the promise they need. 

Then the sounds move on,

Carried by the wind,

They fly over the curling wafts of smoke,

Dancing through the night mist.

Coming to rest on a window pane,

They peer inside,

Only to see a young woman,

Her belly round with child,

A book in hand,

As she reads to unborn ears. 

Smiling softly to themselves, 

The sounds knock gently on the window,

Reminding the young mother that she must sleep,

That her child will be there in the morning. 

Grinning at a job well done,

The sounds move on, 

To where a family stays up well past the timely hour. 

The sounds barge in through the walls, 

Playing with the young children,

Then smiling after them,

In the fashion of the young parents. 

Tumbling out the door,

The sounds whistle past the barren land scape of a school yard,

Where the children whose smiles they’ve caused,

Will come in the future.

The sounds push each other,

Twirling and shoving,

They race each other out of the city, 

And over the rushing river. 

They stop,

Standing at rest,

To see a young girl,

Her arms wrapped around herself,

With nothing but a small satchel. 

Her face is stained with tears,

Only accented by the slanted moonlight,

Her body trembles,

In cold or anger or grief. 

Her shaking hands clutch at a letter,

As if to keep herself afloat,

In her shattered hope,

And broken promises.

The sounds,

They feel her heart,

And one tentatively steps foreword,

To brush the air against her cheek,

In steadfast support. 

Then they kick up again,

Twirling past the still girl,

Moving to reach the sky. 

The girl, she feels the air,

She reads her letter,

A life boat in a storm. 

Suddenly she stands,

Her chest heaving,

Then she turns and runs,

Her feet striking the ground.

Past the river, 

And down the alleys,

Her hand lighting on lampposts to swing herself around. 

She comes to stop,

Her hand raised to knock,

A gentle tap rings out.

The tap echoes off the brick walls,

Then leaves to follow the path that midnight took.

The small sound cannot travel far, 

Yet it finds a small fire,

Where sparks drift up on the wind,

In the Earth’s imitation of stars.