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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Technology · #2148759
For those times when you can't tell the difference between your Angels and your Demons
Midnight Whispers

Somewhere past the witching hour
Midnight whispers fill the room
With screens and keyboards calling,
and falling far too soon

Mediums we talk on through
For things both large and small
Rarely often spoken to
...if ever spoke at all

In the past, in fleeting moments
They flit their wings and leave
With butterflies now broken,
and moths drawn from the weave

Afraid to touch a wakened flame,
be naked in its light
With lifespans short, too short for games
Too brief for craven flights

A life divided, cut in half
On land, and on the wing
With lessons learnt and trinkets earned
Through chrysalids we sing

of maiden twilight voyages
One way, through the night
When monitors, they beckon long,
and keys, board, tap so light

So cautiously they're entered
The memories we keep
The times we've owned and rented
with scars scored, shallow... deep

Deep within the witching hour
Your siren hail calls
The screen and keyboard beckons
… as midnight whispers fall
© Copyright 2018 Logan (stipey at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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