“Between The Hours of Dusk and Dawn”

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There is a time when the world is rewound,
the early hours between dusk a dawn.
The shelves are stocked, the papers come
and by the morning the garbage is gone.

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So many stories and dreams abound,
and for some true love is often found,
between the hours of dusk and dawn.

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But there exists in the world of one,
a lifetime that has gone beyond,
impossible to be rewound,
where nightmares instead of dreams abound.

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The hope for peace is only found,
in needles used by my own hand.

An arm that has a rubber band,
bringing the purple vein up to the fore,
and give me peace just once more.

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But when the promise of dreams are blown,
with falsehoods by a drug lord sown.
The nightmare wins, I'm on the ground,
then quickly up to run around.

I jump and fall, far, far down,
bringing me crashing to the waiting ground.

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Then instantly my world was rewound,
as angels trumpeted a wonderful sound,
that took me to higher spiritual ground.

Where He is dressed in the whitest gown,
and olive branches were braided round,
His head to make forgiveness' crown.

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He walks in gardens, a path that He's sown,
with thorn- less roses which have grown.
The greenest grass so freshly mown,
placed on a chair that becomes a throne.

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To the wind my wounds were overthrown,
the nightmares of the past were gently gone,
where music is the foremost song,
where peace at last for me,
was found between the hours,

of dusk, and dawn.

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-Peter