MIDNIGHT

This is the hour
Not best of all
Nor worst,
Just the hour
In which lies freedom,
Freedom from thought
From art,
From all else save this hour
And what emerges
Within it.
Freedom of flight on wings
Not unlike
The waxed things
Of yore
Though farther from the sun
They are stretched.
Freedom of self to be
Not right nor wrong
But be,
Just be
Not more nor less.
Through the hole of this hour
Slides the man
With no transgression made,
And shared or sharing
Freedom for all to be
For self
And yet unselfish be
Until at last the sun
Once again
Calls forth the mask
That makes one more another.

~Michael Bahm~