this house is cool and dark,
occupants in the meleé of sleep:
outwards, peaceful;
inwards, facing demons and dark fantasies.

Morning light ushers through glass and open panels, gently probes,
but to no avail....they lay rest in quiet.
I greet her at the window with a tired smile.

we know each other well.

awake, I am.
dreaming, I am not.
but who's to say it isn't an illusion
since no one else can tell me so?

stuck at crossroads. urge to feel and  taste outside air.
Morning and I will leave the quiet residents to sleep in,
and I will run my restless bones
until I know the world once more.