Midnight Hour

By Christopher Rupley

Burning the oil
that no one else will
and staying awake
while most remain still

He thinks of his wife,
in her youth,
then her grave,
and how wonderful
it would have been
for her to stay

And he wonders
a lot,
if he’ll see her again,
scratches his head,
and with a sly nod
gives an unscrupulous

One day soon,
he knows it,
he’s sure,
when he wants
it the most,
the one he adores

He’ll be put to rest,
on the hill next to her,
the graves that he dug
for the sweet release of death…


2 thoughts on “Midnight Hour

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