Half Past the Witching Hour by Richard Steiner

Mysterious and mystical ghostly banjo picking

V5.5

Without is frightful weather, but dim dispels the nether,  though thunder bark and shudder, lightning strikes  precision practiced matching fear to fear with each fleeting but most spectacular of prisms…

But one lightning flash from east to the west, brilliant in sight, reminds of the best, for that flash of light, shall beam to the heart, a promise of hope, reminder of life, not of tomorrow, not of today, Nay my friend, of One Special Day, when a cloud from the east, dark first seeming small, as it draws to the west encompasses all, and that lightning strike, fleeting is small, compared to the Glory of The Savior of All, Brighter He comes, this Grand Promised One, brighter than day at the high noon sun, or an atomic blast, with it’s cell melting run, this is the light of God’s Beloved Son, come to retrieve those for which He has paid, dead and alive, age to the next age, this is the thought from one flash of light, given with love, of this do I write…

Fine poetry well written, is it best not rendered to song, for with or without notes, will stay in recall quite long, so i put this strange to music, come take a listen long, words now alive, the poem is song, newly forged verse is rhythm to hear , now, imagine all heaven, Singing it clear…
So is the hour spent worth it  in the confines of insomnia, you must make decision, I say might be, but forget you will not!

2092/7500

Half past the witching hour, a quarter to the dawn, the clock clicks and strikes, dong…dong…dong… with a sigh the sleepless poet, still motionless he lies; this wraith of darkest night, cannot belie the droop of his tired eyes, sleep filed ever seldom, in the archives of his life, would be ever welcome, but alas it is denied, willing sleep of slumber, never seems to take, but light shines through the narrow tunnel, finds sudden inspiration, if it is not fleeting, a masterpiece may break…The cat lies beside him, no purr contentment makes, just trust in his master, whose moves, the cat awakes…Writing quick, a draft is written, in sleepless and drear. Will it bring him joy, or a dribbling of fear?: Without is frightful weather, but dim dispels the nether, though thunder bark and shudder, lightning strikes precision practiced matching fear to fear with each fleeting but most spectacular of prisms… But one lightning flash from east to the west, brilliant in sight, reminds of the best, for that flash of light, shall beam to the heart, a promise of hope, reminder of life, not of tomorrow, not of today, Nay my friend, of One Special Day, when a cloud from the east, dark first seeming small, as it draws to the west encompasses all, and that lightning strike, fleeting is small, compared to the Glory of The Savior of All, Brighter He comes, this Grand Promised One, brighter than day at the high noon sun, or an atomic blast, with it’s cell melting run, this is the light of God’s Beloved Son, come to retrieve those for which He has paid, dead and alive, age to the next age, this is the thought from one flash of light, given with love, of this do I write… Fine poetry well written, is it best not rendered to song, for with or without notes, will stay in recall quite long, so i put this strange to music, come take a listen long, words now alive, the poem is song, newly forged verse is rhythm to hear , now, imagine all heaven, Singing it clear… So is the hour spent worth it in the confines of insomnia, you must make decision, I say might be, but forget you will not!

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