…of midnight

I hear the deathly toll of midnight
and the air becomes heavy like fog
quietly obscuring even the highest peaks
I know that I can always find my loneliness here
amidst the solemn sounds of the darkness
where the shadows gather beneath the trees
and the moon hangs silently above me
like the pale face of someone, that I once loved
my wounds are reopening again
as the bell tolls twelve times, one after another
each one travelling slowly across my soul
somewhere beyond the mist, a bird cries into the darkness
in the moment, the leaves become suddenly still
as if they too, are listening to the toll of midnight
waiting for the final vibration to fade into the dark
but midnight remains beneath my skin
where I have carried it for many years
where I await the sound of the distant bell
as it calls from somewhere deep inside of me
once again I find myself standing here alone
beneath this moon, beneath these ancient stars
listening to darkness whispering your name
how strange it is, that absence has a sound of its own
and that the sound of silence can be deafening
now the fog, moves slowly across the valley
until there is nothing left, but the shadows
grief is like this, a slow erasure of everything
I once thought that love was an immovable mountain
something storms could batter, but never destroy
but tonight put that to rest
even the highest peaks have vanished
and only the bell remains
tolling, tolling, tolling, and when the final toll fades
I am still standing in the darkness
listening for something that will never come
©Ann Bagnall