Lonesomeness hits after the midnight hour; as the more
Lonesome it gets sitting still
As a flower, wanting mine
Petals to be felt.

Wanting mine spirit uplifted,
Aye, mine smile to return.

Still a boy I am inside this man,
A creature who hast seen
Prison cells, where devils
Cringe and yearn.

An afterhour bard,
With a cloudy wind
Creeping betwixt his
Window pane.

me synchoreíte,
The child inside me
Is peeking once
Again.

©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry