The Dwindling Hour

Quite muted may be
The waves of the sea
Compared to the sway
Of the day lit ray.
And yet how far behind
Be the day's ray in mind
When set against the night
Wherein is set the fight;
For behind is anything
That does not at present bring
Any sweet relief
To the weary thief.
Long be his run,
The night be outdone
Upon a wintery shade
That did the earth bade
More time than the day
For those traveling away;
For thieves do alight
In the darkness of night.
Yet the silence of this
Journey is great bliss.
For it opens the mind
So that in it one may find
All that was once lost
Without the weary cost
Of attempting retreat,
In this world of defeat,
In this world of noise,
In this world of boys
And girls gone mad;
Where good is in fact, bad.
Here in the dark one see's
That the light is abused;
Understands the bee's knees
Is just a cloak for items used.

                The Dwindling Hour, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012