The sandman eludes me...

The hours find me wakeful.

My lungs ingests fatuity
while my heart harbours entropy.

Sleep never comes soon
when thoughts dishevelled,
amass to engulf the twilight moon.

To a point where fatigue has taken me...
But still I lay wakeful.

Awaiting the sandman's return,
with the promise of sanctuary.

We all have a place
that we keep
(just in case)
our hord
or our stash
our clutter.

Things that had purpose
or by some chance
may be used again.
Oddities and nic nacks
Old candles and keys
obsolete rechargers and batteries
cables and thimbles,
coins of foreign currencies
manuals and letters and lint.

And they are stored
in shoeboxes,
beer crates
bottom drawers
wardrobes,
on garage shelves
or in hearts.

~~
In the thick wet darkness
Purple flowers are unknown
Last songs of yellow days
As if the anger of Lost spring,
Standing at the end of the afternoon
Embraces the eclipse

Pale gray grass
Dust dough days left alone
Anguish drops around in the silence,
As deep black clouds,
That covers the sky
With the blemish

Drifted clouds drifting more
Builds water flows
Washes away
A white rose
And with the tears
My white love

Intact, Aloof
But the lusterless time
Moving with known unknown cradle
Kapok, Flame-of-the-forest,
Red Flamboyant
Everything Stuck between
Even my Eternal World

Yet who calls from another way
Not at the end of the bend,
At the end of the way
Even Earth Sun Moon,
Where's all the ways mingle
With so many different minds
For another mystic reason
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen