Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I have paid heed
His weening always makes me bleed
That Fiend with his spleen
Nor let anyone see
That he counsels me
While I dream.

He wants my inferior soul
The more I sleep
The more he succeeds
Paradise he does not want me to reach
Who could it be
Lucifer maybe.

The terrible weight of his deceit
He is from no creed
His steed next to the Tree Eve sought
Secrets he can keep
My wish, to drink
From Lethe for eternity.
Written on January 2, yet I hesitated to post for obvious reasons (Lucy is a sketchy subject). I utilized the name Lucifer instead of Satan because the latter is plain evil.
I woke up this morning with a hair on my bed,
Not from my body, not from my head,
7 inches longer than the length on my head.
I don’t think this hair is mine.

I went to sleep last night not a word said,
Locked the door, shut the light, plop, bed.
8 hours later I’m here with this hair.
I don’t think this hair is mine.

Now I'm just pondering “Whose hair?”
Next to my pillow, how’d it get there?
9 centimeters away from my face.
I don’t think this hair is mine.

Did I teleport last night? If so where?
I didn’t invite a friend, not over here.
10 hours ago I hung out with a few,
I don’t think this hair is mine.

Did I sleepwalk last night? What did I do?
Should I ask “does this hair belong to you?”
This brown curly squiggle is making me mad.
I don’t think this hair is mine.
Daniel eason Jan 30
Sleeping awake
I think its time to take
Another journey
In one place but it seems like another
Its hidden from the majority
Forced out by authority's
Is it your choice or is it theirs?
Have a taste if you dare
Once youre there you may realise
Not all that you believe in is fact but more fiction
Whatever you choose is your decision
Something i was just feeling
Haylin Jan 30
I am studying.
I am dying from exams.
I should get some sleep.

Don's you just love exams?
I don't.
I hate it.
Aurora Jan 22
It was like a kid
Opening the gift
He waited for
For too long
Then found
An empty box
When I
Waited for too long
To be alone with you
Then you fell asleep
In my bed.
No cuddle and no sheets. Meh.
Yuki Jan 17
This is how I love
to remember you:
like a sleeping angel
while that faintest
light seeped through
the window in the small
hours of the morning.
Van Byrde Jan 9
I speak your name into the night
my hands crawl across your sheets
and your body isn't there
I wait
the chill in the air puckers my skin
you've got a steaming cup
in your hand, as you come
softly padding in
the nights blue light
and your warm honeyed eyes
"Come back to bed," I say
"My feet are cold."
"I'll be your heater. Am I hot enough for you to hold?"
you climb in and thump my head

We waited there
Till the rays of light
Shined on our forms
Tea forgotten
Sleeping like two children
In a storm
Clutched to one another tight
Hg Jan 8
beauty sleeps
every sunday
the rest she’s
dressed in lingerie

in bidding rooms
where men x-ray
as she stands stiff
scared et risqué

she’s forced to host
private soirées
for bourgeoisie
with filthy brains

while on the news
reporters say
she last was seen
on the subway

by now sixteen
she speaks français
her french family
won’t plot a grave

two years it’s been
spent incagé
bruised and abused
by those who prey

at least she sleeps
every sunday
that’s time enough
to plan escape

she lets a man
have child’s play
then she gets hold
of razor blades

then on the news
french police say
they found her
body in decay

sleeping beauty
slept sundays
but now she rests
toujours, always
for those who don’t survive
Matterhorn Jan 2
Rain drip dropping
On the outside of my bivy sack
Cold air, breathing
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
Next page