The Midnight Inventory

 And who do you call when all is done?

When the guests have gone 

And you’ve had all your fun? 


The evening yawns and yields to night 

This hour is for rest, 

Before you awake at dawn, for another day’s fight. 


And you peel these layers off, one by one

From the shoes that slip off your reluctant toes,

To the irksome material, now removed and done. 


Your face - now that it is of war-paint bare; 

Do you see your soul? 

When you ; at the mirror, stare…


These fragile pieces that you keep concealed, 

In the recesses of your mind, your heart…

How long until they are completely healed? 


The pain you hide in the tissue of your skin, 

The constant prick of an ache unseen. 

In search of blessed peace within… 


May some day be granted and within your reach, 

On another day when the evening is done, 

When you can slow your pace to a walk instead of a run… 


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