Bad dreams stalk the nights
powerful, ugly scenes
people from the past, tormented.
Folk you really would, and did
part company with, unhealthy
those you could only travel
so far with, without harming yourself.
They are all alive and well
in the dark of the nights
larger than life so it seems
But they posses no real power
and come morning, they have gone
gone back from whence they came.

Night-time falls inside my heart.
As if a playwright,  sketching a plot.
Dotting the i and crossing the ts.
Or crossing the eyes and coming to tea.
Night-time is a sad time.
Or maybe it's not.
A time during which yesterday passed and tomorrow's to visit.
At least I hope it is.
I have not contemplated a will.
Perhaps it's because I have nothing, no nothing at all.
Life is exciting, I'm having a ball.
Life is confusing I'm fighting the dark.
My eyes falling open, I'm feeding the spark, or the spark's feeding me.
Again thoughts devour me, I'm down on my knees.
Thoughts invade my head as I slip into bed, or fall from it.
Nothing's sinister or mad, just a poet wearing my poet's head and hat.
Want the world to know what I think of this or muse on that.
Today my friends, I declare indeed I wear said poet's hat, quite the nicest hat that I possess, it possesses me too.
(c)Livvi