Midnight's Sun

To wait for someone's the work of the porch 
As the sun goes down, to light up the sky, it holds up a torch
Like a force of habit I watch, don't know if it's South, don't know if it's North
Don't know if the day's dying, don't know if the night is born.

And though everyone's gone for a rest, I sense a feeling of yearning
The breeze is cool and cold, yet inside feels like burning 
They're away for a break, repeats my head, yet it awaits for their returning 
All sadness meant to dissipate has been swallowed, I can feel it churning and squirming. 

Few rooms, small house, yet it feels like a cemetery, dead soundless 
A body's present with lips sewed shut, and so the whispers are boundless 
How can thoughts be so piercing, they're mouthless, what is this loudness! 
Only the sound of fans and rustling of leafes, still I feel cornered, surrounded. 

Come midnight, it's dark, still there's the sun hanging 
Casting a veil upon the clouds like a veil of blood, chilling, enchanting 
And here lays my eyes frozen astray, missing, scanning 
For the smallest step or noise, banging, or laughing. 

Perhaps we were meant to meet, you and I, my peculiar sight 
It's much in place to thank you, my nighttide's not dark, your sky's not white 
I shall wait for them and write for you, midnight sun, I shall write for you tonight 
For such a view I give you the strange phenomenon of my shed tears, in behalf that I'll soon see them
But you, I shall mourn every day, for each and every unlightened night.