Midnight

Dreams with dirty hands
they have no right to speak.

They speak in the voice of an old friend,
ten answers to the same tired question. 

Silence unravelling
what you believe you are.

Pouring ink into the well of thoughts, 
the water was never clear.

It walks barefoot across the temple
of your soul,
declaring a failure,
every breath a debt.

Mocking your joy,
whispers that it is illusion,
then asks you to shoulder
the burden never there.

Midnight climbs into your wanting ears
a thief who knows
exactly where the light is hidden.

Thieves of lost hours,
sculpting ghosts from memory
selling them  back as prophecy.

It has never met the dawn.
Fire a myth long since lost
It fears what sings
after silence has passed.

Do not drink from its cup.
Turn your ear to its riddles.
Midnight is a liar
and you are the secret it cannot unwrite.