Midnight

Closing in the hour of wealth
And the last hour of health
A moment between past and future
The present is the presence of breath
Thanking life for not gifting death
Munching on bunches of hunches
Pensive on reaction out of such distractions
New items bring new confusions and colors are so frustrating
But suddenly a sigh of relief is let into the air and the constant chiming of bells in ones head chimes yet again
Daytime arrives as the last words are pronounced, "night"
Our totems are the visions in which we visualize many pleasing sights
But true totems are the lights outside
Our postmortem mentalities leave us with mortem posted
Laughter until a tear is shed and the tear means nothing but a decrepit soul
Such a debilitated person cannot defend himself
Yet, in such weakness, gazing over the shoulder a tear falls to the ground to cause the earths shake
Then, and only then will they listen
When maniacal shouting reaches into sinister cynicism with a small doze of overdose
And the corpse is laying there, eyes shut, soul staring into yours
Drop tears, drop tears.