The Eleventh Hour

There’s a strange kind of power in the eleventh hour
That washes over me every night.
A feeble light inside shines and burns brighter
As the moments of the day slowly fade.
I’m free and falling through the layers of myself,
Making friends with who I’ve become since yesterday.

Potential towers in the eleventh hour;
Preparing to rise with the sun.
Memories dance in the shadows.
Often the moon peeks in and shines
A spotlight on my secrets and fears
Or a friend who stands the test of time.


2 thoughts on “The Eleventh Hour”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s