I click the wasteland on
again
stumble out of bed
again
I need the comfort of the flickering lights against a dark wall
and the sound it makes
there's not enough despair in here
to be where I must be
a king has died of pain overdose
the story flashes from the screen
bounces off the hallway mirror and into my coffee
I sip without noticing a change
try to write of broken hopes and mended dreams
but the words are futile
weak
I seek the moon for vital signs
but a faceless cloud of shapeless form
holds nothing to inspire
there are faces of thousands
who offer their lives but for a taste of freedom
their screams float silently out of reach
come to rest in a candy dish
do I ponder the ultimate poetic gesture
suffer no more these sleepless nights
perhaps I will sleep on such thoughts