Past the Midnight Hour

Silence, numinosity.
Waiting for the will to be.
Nothing stirs.
An emptiness is here.

Knowing naught and yet a feel
of over-powered expectancy.
The focus is diminishing
as spirits come to life.

We live the dream
that shirks the light of day.
Magically, an interplay
hums sacred harmonies.

Disjointed thoughts
are not a loss at all.
Secretly, this moment
of the in between will fall.

In silent numinosity.
Waiting for the will to be
it all...

? Michaelette ?

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