Dull and useless, the day limps by.
Like a wounded bird, it suffers through the hours,
Relief coming only when it has passed.
The 9 long chimes of the clock represents not a turning point, but a freeze frame.
A period of limbo.
I am neither awake to the world, nor asleep.
I pass through the three hours of pergatory,
Until finally that one glimmering hour emerges from the arid darkness.
Midnight.
Suddenly, everything is changed.
No longer is the air flat and still,
Begging for inspiration.
Now, it sparkles.
Breathes in with hushed excitement, glimmering secrecy.
The misted grass outside begs to be touched.
The stereo longs to be utilized.
And I look with eyes that have been woken.
Not from a dream, but the opposite.
I have escaped the daylight.
I have made it to the night.
And I wonder,
What changes after midnight?
What makes my thoughts speed up,
What makes the ticking hand of time slow down?
What fuels the inspiration?
What fuels me?
Perhaps it is as Dostoyevsky says,
“The darker the night, the brighter the stars.”