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Sleepingking
Poems2
Words216
There she was As my eyes wandered to her A gaze I gave lazy, almost uninterested As if the world had nothing left to offer Then it happened The cars stopped And she walked As gracefully as a princess ascending her throne The kind of grace that makes you ashamed Of every ordinary thing you have ever seen I swear to you, I heard nothing else The city swallowed itself whole Traffic, voices, wind All of it Gone Nothing remained But the soft tapping of her feet Against the cold, indifferent road That somehow beneath her felt sacred Then came that dreadful interruption Not from the mind But somewhere deeper That hollow place behind the ribs That only speaks when it has no choice It whispered Then it ached Then it said what I already knew What a beauty God, what a beauty She moved slowly Almost intentionally As if time itself had leaned in to watch Yet I knew it in my marrow In the deepest unnamed place within me She had no idea None at all Of the spell she cast Without even trying Without even knowing she was magic I looked left Then right Desperate, searching every face For someone Anyone Who could confirm what I was seeing But there was no one I was the only one The only soul in the world she had quietly created Who could see the road glow Warm and golden Where her feet had touched I dared My mouth opened Her name unknown to me Yet it felt like a betrayal not to call it I reached for words But my heart had abandoned its post Rising slowly to my throat Blocking everything Every syllable Every prayer And so I stood there Full Completely full Of everything I could not say Like a mute Singing the song of his heart To an audience of one Who never looked back
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May 21
May 21, 2026 at 10:42 AM UTC
Sleepingking
The Road Glowed Where She Stepped"
There she was As my eyes wandered to her A gaze I gave lazy, almost uninterested As if the world had nothing left to offer Then it happened The cars stopped And she walked As gracefully as a princess ascending her throne The kind of grace that makes you ashamed Of every ordinary thing you have ever seen I swear to you, I heard nothing else The city swallowed itself whole Traffic, voices, wind All of it Gone Nothing remained But the soft tapping of her feet Against the cold, indifferent road That somehow beneath her felt sacred Then came that dreadful interruption Not from the mind But somewhere deeper That hollow place behind the ribs That only speaks when it has no choice It whispered Then it ached Then it said what I already knew What a beauty God, what a beauty She moved slowly Almost intentionally As if time itself had leaned in to watch Yet I knew it in my marrow In the deepest unnamed place within me She had no idea None at all Of the spell she cast Without even trying Without even knowing she was magic I looked left Then right Desperate, searching every face For someone Anyone Who could confirm what I was seeing But there was no one I was the only one The only soul in the world she had quietly created Who could see the road glow Warm and golden Where her feet had touched I dared My mouth opened Her name unknown to me Yet it felt like a betrayal not to call it I reached for words But my heart had abandoned its post Rising slowly to my throat Blocking everything Every syllable Every prayer And so I stood there Full Completely full Of everything I could not say Like a mute Singing the song of his heart To an audience of one Who never looked back
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70
The Old ******* The old man lies in his tailor clothes, Scorched by years, a single tear Tracing the map of his cheek He stares beyond the ceiling, Beyond whatever truth he kept. He was a learned talker, A sly laugher, A hard fighter Honest in the way only liars learn to be. Now he lies in a shallow bed of old stories, And I marvel at how swift he moved through the world, So fast, so fluid, That even I who loved him never caught his craft. Oh, he was an old ******* But his last words still hold: If you won't sleep with her, better not think of her. Yet I do. It's like breathing when you know you are going to die.
0
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 10:32 AM UTC
Sleepingking
The old *******
The Old ******* The old man lies in his tailor clothes, Scorched by years, a single tear Tracing the map of his cheek He stares beyond the ceiling, Beyond whatever truth he kept. He was a learned talker, A sly laugher, A hard fighter Honest in the way only liars learn to be. Now he lies in a shallow bed of old stories, And I marvel at how swift he moved through the world, So fast, so fluid, That even I who loved him never caught his craft. Oh, he was an old ******* But his last words still hold: If you won't sleep with her, better not think of her. Yet I do. It's like breathing when you know you are going to die.
Continue reading...
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