The Relapse of Midnight

When in the deep quiet mine candle dost burn low,
And my thoughts become as the clamor I daily overhear,
I still mine soul, dread that a face I did know
May appear in this realm of solitude and familiar fear.
Alas, I listen as thy voice controls my every twitch
and the sole movement is the tick upon the clock--
I in haste forget that I am no longer by thou bewitched
and remain in thy presence until the present is forgot.
Awaking I cry, for my tender love has been poorly spent
Quick! Begone, thou man of mine deepest affliction!
I gave thou mine heart but it in pieces did thou rend
Thou claimed it as thine own with scarce permission.

Saddened, I seek again the silence that drove us apart,
Becoming as stoic as the wind and solid as mine heart.

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