Midnight

There's something odd about an empty room
That's small enough to be a single one
Yet feels it isn't destined for that doom;
That seems as though, before its time is done,
It should be filled by happiness for two
But still is not. It is a limbo place
That stands between what yet is left to do
And has come. The human mind can trace
The future echoes of a time unmet
Which seem to glisten between darkened walls
After the solitary sun has set
And yet before the comfortable night falls
Shining companionship from endless stars
Upon the future and this room of ours.