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“The cousins leave, their laughter and cries do too Upon that hour when sky’s flame Is fell from up high The water stops, the winds halt Maybe even the blood stands too, still For nothing moves, nothing’s awake at this hour Minds and souls roam, free Away from the heads plastered close to earth Dreaming dreams, of planets, moons and else Partaking, all in the blackness’s ritual So dark, even the puppets of evil are tempted to lie still All Men sleep, nothing’s awake at this hour – Except me, And the hand From which this poem is borne.”
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Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 6:05 AM UTC
INSOMNUS: DARK, THE POEM
“The cousins leave, their laughter and cries do too Upon that hour when sky’s flame Is fell from up high The water stops, the winds halt Maybe even the blood stands too, still For nothing moves, nothing’s awake at this hour Minds and souls roam, free Away from the heads plastered close to earth Dreaming dreams, of planets, moons and else Partaking, all in the blackness’s ritual So dark, even the puppets of evil are tempted to lie still All Men sleep, nothing’s awake at this hour – Except me, And the hand From which this poem is borne.”
From 'PICNICS WITH THE PAIN: A Micro-Anthology Of Micro-Poetry.''
#insomnia#wordsmith#wiz#picnics#appop
WordSmith_Wiz
Written by
WordSmith_Wiz
20/M/Harare, Zimbabwe
Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 6:05 AM UTC
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