My writers mind is consumed in thoughts,
as the waining moon shines,
and wind blows at the 2Am hour.
Vessel is gripped with feelings of desertion
as if time stopped and I’m stuck in limbo.
What does a person do,
when loved ones are allusive
and care little about a sibling?
When sleeping seems unattainable?
And seeking out a friend is nonviable
since those dead asleep cannot hear.
And yet with pen in hand my only friends
seem to be the written word.
The phases that give serenity to a tired soul.
The wind howls trying to get inside mind,
as if knocking at my door-like ears.
As if it wants to come in, while hour turns to three
and street lamps still burn.
Yes the writers mind creates
when ****** into a cavern of words and darken halls.
It lingers under desk lamp that causes a haze in eyes
and a lightheaded frame.
Searching for reasons for a restless night
and solemn heartbeat continues,
as hand to pen is held tightly
and words flow like opened levee.
Phases swirl in mind before hitting page.
They mount with words of hurt from people doing me wrong.
They echo with power cutting open old wounds.
The blood of memories cover as if a blanket.
Now I understand why my sleep is unattainable.
Now its time to surrender and take a pill to sleep.
Just maybe later today the sun will bring some peace
and perhaps a friend to lend an ear.
StarBG © 2017
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
My writers mind is consumed in thoughts,
as the waining moon shines,
and wind blows at the 2Am hour.
Vessel is gripped with feelings of desertion
as if time stopped and I’m stuck in limbo.
What does a person do,
when loved ones are allusive
and care little about a sibling?
When sleeping seems unattainable?
And seeking out a friend is nonviable
since those dead asleep cannot hear.
And yet with pen in hand my only friends
seem to be the written word.
The phases that give serenity to a tired soul.
The wind howls trying to get inside mind,
as if knocking at my door-like ears.
As if it wants to come in, while hour turns to three
and street lamps still burn.
Yes the writers mind creates
when ****** into a cavern of words and darken halls.
It lingers under desk lamp that causes a haze in eyes
and a lightheaded frame.
Searching for reasons for a restless night
and solemn heartbeat continues,
as hand to pen is held tightly
and words flow like opened levee.
Phases swirl in mind before hitting page.
They mount with words of hurt from people doing me wrong.
They echo with power cutting open old wounds.
The blood of memories cover as if a blanket.
Now I understand why my sleep is unattainable.
Now its time to surrender and take a pill to sleep.
Just maybe later today the sun will bring some peace
and perhaps a friend to lend an ear.
StarBG © 2017
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