Keeping Strange Hours (Poetry)

The sun’s long gone down
night claims the far hill
cold silence holds court
and the trees have grown still

The Dreamstalker comes
with his sackful of doubt
then he puts down his load
and dark thoughts tumble out

The room’s a black carnival
freaks rule the show
they juggle reality
yet fail to let go

The ringmaster’s fallen
on very strange times
he lurks in a corner
ashamed of his crimes

The moon’s a poor witness
who lies on the bed
and swears she’d much rather
be elsewhere instead

The judge is a clock
lacking numbers or hands
he nods off at some point
and so misunderstands

How time gets away
when the hours won’t keep
for the sentence is light
and the gaol’s full of sheep