The Midnight Power-cut.

Night crawls a drunkard’s stagger –
Hoping to approach dawn
Without incident or notice.

But the tyranny of fate
Is a beast with little heart.

The power goes out
Engulfing the ancient City
Within a blanket of primordial darkness.

A curious uniformity creeps over.
A nonchalant stillness.

The moon’s pale light, wanes.
It’s fellowship with night at stake.
A marauder’s masterpiece in making.

Half asleep, half unable to
The citizens moan and groan.

And the power comes back on;
A snag in the machinery fixed,
And a dream half told, now fully forgotten.

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