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89 · Nov 2020
You, Me, and Us
Debra Van Ness Nov 2020
'You, Me, and Us'
Hello, I am you, you are me, we are "us" and also past and present.
Never insisted to know who I "am" and who you "were". But now I see it much candescent.

    Gone are the years of  last fateful life
      filled with black voids and blood of knife.
      Depression marks his evil tone upon
      our own. Leaving us rusting in the years,
      tainted orange tears.
      We, the one soul, yet each our own,
      I  have shown now what asked  be known.
      You are welcome. Finally! But what you
      could of grabbed from the far reaches of
        your every sick or healthy choice.
To the grit!  shall we go now?

Life is a mud bowl drowning earth, worms writhing dirt. Slips on wet as a stream of silt. Then sits and
dries until we wilt.

Look within. Brought are the maggots of the boil... the boil
of the ugly dried up truth of coating stiffness.
Seeing night and living in light and darkness. do not
question "why"? A purpose far fallen into the pit of
"living".... is also dying.

Darkness must charge against the light and teeth must chatter fright to know the day from night.
Fringing on the edge of the cliff which sits still,
canyon waiting for something to swallow.

Let the shocking fall into the numbness call.

SHOCK! let it flee throughout the brain and demise
the swollen gel inside the rotting head.
Dream a night terror of any kind in every
corner of the mind.
don't rhyme, if you choose to flitter the words
in some chasm of dungeon's time.
Do, if you wish, and swim with the bitten
fish which wallow through red water wounds.

"I am you, you are me, we are 'US' "!
Welcome to the reveal of my latest meal.
© an hour ago, Debra Ann Van Ness
Someone writes through me at times. Or perhaps I AM REALLY crazy!
81 · Nov 2020
Sleepwalk Nod
Debra Van Ness Nov 2020
... on the darkened edge, no voices heard that I recall.
Slipping around the house in some slumber, part awake,
level one asleep... I shuffle wander.

sleep evades any hope of repair as another morning will
arrive new and fare.

a large mug of coffee fill, as I shake off the softened chill..
when will I find the proper pill? ("Coffee, ah, will be
the morning's demand reward".)

Sleep is a dream evading my time. It sits in circles
of the mind. circles I chase and wish to capture paste on
the wall.
Whereas I could unclinch the cliff preventing my
fall.  Never falling with surmount insistence, instead,
standing at attention of all life's varied assistance.

Tired, not as I exist in this zombie state, sleepy eyes
still closed sleep's gate. Exhausted, drained and
mentally lame. My body screams in pain and vain.

Rest is a flight. HE avoids my night.  t.v. channels,
meditation, infomercials, revelations. Try to wish
away the wake, and start to fall... into the hush...
slowly slush.... sleep a must.... BOOM! the bell of
conscious sends a scatter to sleepwalk nausea.

Pills prescribed for these ills, none for me do their will.
Wishing day to stumble an hour's nod. Dawning sun...
again in quicksand's mandate trod.
80 · Nov 2020
Mallards' Flow
Debra Van Ness Nov 2020
Ducks crowning deep teal above yellow beaks.

Floating weightless, water's skim;
feathered bodies, involuntary whim.

Spreading reach in short burst flight.
Serenity glide, a glistened noon
light.

The knowing follow into flock,
passing line's of lure in
nylon lock.
Treasured ripple water's show,
slow enchanted wave in flow.

An ice skate dance of feather
weight,
paddled blissful sensory fate.

Web feet spent on soil and
grass, closing eyes. Fine blown
glass.

Mallards, whispering drop of willow's
nod, resting, never harried, safe
nestled pod.

Afternoon napping spending shade's
dimmed shine, while a world
spins out of rhyme.
Debra Van Ness Nov 2020
The Monster's Stolen Train
Three O'clock and Four O'clock..the thin veil hour. I awaken.
Back!  he busted in, not mistaken.

Who brought me into this realm between living. Draining every corner of the self.
Not reading books, they decay the shelf.

Sleep eludes each darkened rhyme, what is this hex of
ravel chime. The CHIME which blasts into awakened!
Heard it not within my bed. Cannot sleep. The soul of robbery
BOOMS  ahead!

Everyone within eyes closed. Pills won't fix this hellish pose.
I swallow them hoping soon to drop to numbness from my fog.

Recalling days of twelve hour sleep in the days of teen beat.
Long passed and changed, my ruined clock spins counter clockwise
and in demise.
SLEEP! A must as food and air to breathe leads me into misery seethe.

Sleep arrives vague and in shifts. An hour here and there. then AWAKE!
No reason, no banging noise, no one with me, not a bother in sight.
But the day sandwiches me between slumber and fight.

Lack of sleep can be used as a torture tactic. The pressing thoughts from here to there from nowhere.

No worries in nights, no frights I fight. Stolen sleep in scheme plight.

Longing the days of endless charge, pushing with thoughts in charge...
I know the insomniac's monster malice. Drinking, draining his evil
chalice.
Here he roars his energy train. Riding away, stolen sleep, into distant cold pounding rain.

© 10 days ago, Debra Ann Van Ness    fog • sleep • mystery • of • thief

— The End —