Midnight Philosophy

Night comes, like a womb
jeweled in stars, from which
we will be born like
forms defined from the darkness.
(Anything goes, I think,
when one does not consider
that even the unlit streets
have eyes.) Strange,
in even the most unholy places
walk saints who fear
nothing but God, and I imagine
it is no bravery to believe in things
when everyone else does,
too, when it costs you nothing.
(O Lord, may I not be
too comfortable.) And dreams:
how much is one worth
plopping out, prepackaged,
from a vending machine?
I think I would rather bleed.
I think I would rather
be defeated than handed victory;
I think I would rather
die than waste life; I think
I would rather hope
for what is impossible than
gain the world and hope nothing.
(Now, wondering at what I
say….) Dawn comes soon,
and this midnight
philosophizing: shall it be
we do more in dreaming
than we do in waking?
Better that we should sleep.