The Wind in the Night
The candles danced in the glass of the mirror
where it hung, broken, on the wall.
And the air stood still, as if in a tomb,
the clock ticked solemnly on.
They danced very slowly, they barely moved,
a sigh, a spin, a twirl—
They were the only light in the room,
Flickering, floating to an unheard tune.
Branches clapped, haughty and dark
as they watched with arrogant pride
And they swayed with the wind,
Far too bitter, too cold to be kind.
Let us in, the wind cried, we'll soon change the mood,
Let us in, and you'll never go back
to being alone, forgotten in night
We'll bring you back to the light.
With the trees' aid, the panes shattered and screamed
wounded beyond repair
the wind shrieked in, cackling with glee
and trampled the quiet melody.
The candles danced, faster and faster,
unable to catch a breath,
the wind raced by, the candle's new master
eager to bring new upset.
The mirror couldn't move,
it only could watch the wind as it played it's new trick
to attire the fire in dusty old clothes
and tremble in fear as it caught.
The cold shied away, it no longer could stay
in the hidden old room like a tomb,
And the clock went still as the fire choked it's will
And the mirror fell dead off the wall.
The candles danced in the glass of the mirror,
where it lay, broken, on the floor,
And the air crackled bright, with a painful light,
And the clock couldn't tick anymore.