Well Met In the Night
by Michael Doyle

We meet in the night, hiding in the masquerade
Pretending, as we do, in our game of charade,
That while we pretend to have no hint of fear
There's security that gains us gathered here. 

Social wallflowers are high-class in borrowed shoes
Dancing with themselves in their angst and blues
Diamonds are coal that defied the principles of gravity
To become sharp and shiny through their levity. 

In a world of giants, the children just want love
With hands in prayer, they turn their eyes to the above.
Seeing the world around them lost in legal friction,
And wondering to themselves how much of this was fiction. 

Somewhere down below the sound, we felt the beat, 
Joined hands in protest, we took to the streets. 
Your mind was so happily diabolical, I felt the heat.
But when I kissed your lips, I knew the treat. 

Cyclical nights are known as digital in their dreams,
And your pleasures were always bursting at the seams.
Filled with so many ideas that just had to be said,
There met in the night, were the outpourings of your head.

Numbed eyes behold the soul's sacred revelation,
It was just our fate that found us at our destination.
Making jokes though, lost and rambling in our ways
These would make our memories in our elder days.

Like guardians of some form unknown but filled with knowledge,
Our hearts began to bond  forcing us to acknowledge
That somewhere in all that was spoken in our sincerity,
Was filling our souls with what was to become our identity.

(c) August 14, 2025   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved