A Handful of Words: An Anthology of Original Poetry

The Witching Hour

It is midnight

The mysterious hour

Of scrambled thoughts

No one speaks, all is still

Sometimes the loudest noise you will ever hear is silence

I am choked by it, the silence

Yet it sparks my wild thoughts

In that steely grip of midnight

Time is at a standstill during this hour

Nobody dares utter a word, as I lay completely still

The night air is still

Hand in hand with the silence

As I wait for the hour

To pass from midnight

So rushed are my late-night thoughts

I try to organize those things, my thoughts

I question them, but receive no reply from this midnight

My breathing is becoming still

To match the everlasting silence

Of this haunted hour

Slowly passes the hour

So lost and still

But all is killed by silence

Eventually so are my thoughts

That I no longer wish to think during this midnight

The hour of midnight haunts me

It gives me strange thoughts though all is still;

Yet the silence makes it impossible to sleep