Midnight

Thought has not the will
to budge me from my infinite torpor,
nothing left of hope
but a burned out candle,
and the clock strikes midnight
here at the end of the world —
time when all time runs out, no more seconds
left to diligently pass —
but I find that even so, I cannot
for the life of me get myself
to care. What happened to the childhood
brightness? What happened
to the little hands that
held all the potential in the universe,
casually waiting for the
opportune inkling to dribble
down from heaven, so to
build a bridge across the vast expanses?
I am spent, a penny
that has scraped the sidewalk
until Lincoln is indecipherable,
coals that are nothing
but burnt ashes, and I
wait for the impossible, for lightning
to charge me without that
it renders sudden thrashing death….
But I look out from my station
here in the gutters of my mind,
staring up at the stars,
and I wonder, just for a moment,
if even this, this garbage,
is meant to be, and destiny
still waits to catch me
as I wander aimlessly…
and the clock strikes midnight
here at the end of the world —
time when time begins again,
the greatest beginning there will ever be.