It's eleven on a Friday night <br />And I'm walking the streets again. <br />I feel no comfort, feel no fright, <br />I'm not sure where I'm going or been. <br /> <br />The world should be asleep by now, <br />Tucked snugly in to its bed. <br />Against my thoughts I'm wrong somehow, <br />It's artificial day instead. <br /> <br />The wolves are out and on the hunt, <br />The lambs are sitting still as stone. <br />And out here on the battlefront <br />I've never been more alone. <br /> <br />Beneath the pale moon's murky haze <br />There's an abundance of sound. <br />In the far distance music plays <br />And voices are heard all around. <br /> <br />Car horns honk and tires screech <br />As they go rushing passed me. <br />Teenagers chat with obscene speech, <br />Insisting their speech is free. <br /> <br />Midnight merriment is sought after <br />'Til the nightingale has flown. <br />Surrounded by life and laughter <br />I've never been more alone.<br /><br />Jimmie Arrington<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/367-midnight-merriment/
