The Youth of the Night.

And in light of the hour,
That shed thee of youth, 
At a time when one needs another,
To drive out harsh truths.
I seem to have found a way to divert,
The much pined for gaze,
Of the one whom once hurt,
Due to some other's pathetic phase.

It is, why now, in this darkening day,
I simply sit and wallow,
In the dying light upon the bay,
Alone in my depleting youth, still and hallow,
My thoughts and senseful mind astray.

 My grin becoming a shadow, 
It's charm sinking into the night,
My skin losing it's colour for pallor,
My hair falls loose, my hands clench tight,
I laugh into the late of the night. 
I scream into the face of my plight. 

A Moment Missed.

There, by the window facing south,
There is not a figure present. 
And down by the window sill,
 Down where she lays her hand,
Is not a hand to be seen.

And when, in the quietest of hours,
Doth pass the hour of,
A time long forgotten by a mind,
That was rarely there,
Where she waits. 

So pass that hour then,
Into the moment that only she,
The figure lost, does notice. 
A chime unheard that was once there,
Rings out into the silence. 

With it's dark call, it's silence owns -
All that is seen around it.
And without her standing there,
Where she hears beside that window south,
It goes onward unnoticed.