-- Midnight’s Terror --

John Herlihy

Mother, dear mother,

Would that it were morning.

The night held the child in its grip,

Who drank the murky waters sip by sip.

The stars had vanished in regret,

To leave behind alone the child upset.

Mother, dear mother,

Would that it were morning.

Do leave the bedroom door open,

A crack of light my safety to betoken.

This slender beam to make my heart bright,

To cast into shadow the night spright.

Mother, dear mother,

Would that it were morning.

Awaiting in terror the midnight hour,

Weakened, trembling by its potent power.

The gong will strike at the final second,

To instill into hearts terror no one reckoned.

Mother, dear mother,

Would that it were morning.

This tribute to midnight’s cold

Will accompany me until I’m old.

Take my hand away from this plight,

Your presence a comfort to give respite.

Mother, dear mother,

Would that it were morning.

Night whispers tell a fearful tale;

The muted sounds my timid ears assail.

The ravens swoop with blackened wings;

My fears nay permit a heart that sings.

Mother, dear mother,

Would that it were morning.

As the minutes pass, there is no rest,

As the darkness fills every fiber of the breast.

In daytime, how my heart feels brave,

While darkness turns me into a night slave.

Mother, dear mother,

Would that it were morning.

The wind has died, the air is still;

Phantoms and fiends my vision fill.

My voice that once sang lilting as a lyre,

Now muted in silence in tremulous desire.

Mother, dear mother,

Would that it were morning.

Those grim specks of light vanishing,

With beads of dawn light soaring.

To awaken finally from this troubled keep,

As the day awaits dawn’s awakening from sleep.

Mother, dear mother,

Would that it were morning.

May everything return to normal again,

To know the world for its where and when,

To feel once again my heart at peace,

Wrapped in day’s contentment without cease.

-- Midnight’s Bliss --

John Herlihy

Father, dear father,

May I rest in the night’s embrace.

Now all is hushed, the seconds chime,

A sacred presence in this hour sublime.

The wind no longer swells in nightly gale;

Its fiendish howls no longer my ears assail.

Father, dear father,

May I rest in the night’s embrace.

The night held the child in hallowed terrain;

The silence mellowed the heart with its refrain.

The milky white way of the stars do beckon,

Filling caverns of the heart no one can reckon.

Father, dear father,

May I rest in the night’s embrace.

The child watched the shadows of night,

To play on the moon-drenched wall in delight.

Fingers to spark the imagination without end,

Beckoning the child to steal away with this friend.

Father, dear father,

May I rest in the night’s embrace.

This tribute will endure thru midnight’s hour,

To enchant one’s dream with magical power.

Angels take my hand in their glorious flight,

To lead me safely thru the darkness of night.

Father, dear father,

May I rest in the night’s embrace.

Night whispers tell an adventurous tale;

The whispered sounds do eager ears assail.

Owls hoot inquiringly with extended wings;

The child’s mind soars as its heart happily sings.

Father, dear father,

May I rest in the night’s embrace.

Tis now the moment still, no need for dread,

The graves are sealed tight to protect the dead.

Phantoms and ghouls have but baleful power,

Never to enter the heart of this sanctified hour.

Father, dear father,

May I rest in the night’s embrace.

May lessons be learned in gentle dream,

Error’s erased from the fabric of life’s seam.

To escape the foibles found in life’s snare,

To rest content in the bosom of night’s care.

Father, dear father,

May I rest in the night’s embrace.

To ride the rhythms of dawn’s runs,

To awaken as in spring as the day comes,

To awaken refreshed from contented sleep,

To greet the day with no tears to weep,

Father, dear father,

May I rest in the night’s embrace.

May everything return to normal again,

To know the world for its where and when,

To feel once again my heart filled with bliss,

Wrapped in day’s contentment with nothing amiss.

- - - - - -

(c) John Herlihy 27 September 2019