Midnight feast.
Midnight feast.
By Bahr
There’s a slight rhythm the stars take,
between the hushed blues of the skies
and under the covers of everyone who lies
down into the withered underbelly of the night.
The notes between each blinding ray ring out
to each individual who remains awake.
A delightful charm takes a step between every head,
a strum of gold that breaks into brass
breathes into their beds.
Oh, such soft-spoken sounds envelope what silence remains.
It eats away at the quiet and spits back a varnished bone.
Yet remains hungry for those awake.
