When two hours of twelve the clock has struck
each night towards morn a Vision comes
of an infant child heading my way
through darkness, fear, woe and despair,
a child that stands to look at me
while that same clock of twelve strikes three.
Dark cloudless eyes of alien glow
set questions lest they might bestow
that wisdom which I have found not.
And every night this feeling grows
of guilt for what I fail to hold
laden with sighs of longing born.
The deep and beyond all fathom gaze
remains there fixed leaving me bare
of arrogance, pride and previous holds;
familiar life, beliefs and thoughts
left plundering under the honest weight
of the child called Empathy and its unwavering gaze.
And every night that crawls towards morn
when that cursed clock shows all hours gone
the childish face and look reach out
with one last smile that leaves me drown
in what I know but dare not call
the bitter-sweet feeling of Hope Reborn.
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