Sleep is not my friend tonight.
For tonight holds with it all my fears.
The howling of a hurting heart.
The darkness engulfs all that I hold dear.
And from this darkness,
Once rolled empty tears.

It seeps right through the bone.
Once again I feel it.
That cold that grips the soul.
This torment, it is not new, it is not old.

Sleep is not my friend tonight,
For the greater good. Because I should.
I must push it all off a ledge.
Till all that's felt is nothingness.

I am who I am,
                  I am!

             ...am I?
        ...Who am I?

If I could have your arms tonight-
But half the world and the broken sea
Lie between you and me.

The autumn rain reverberates in the courtyard,
Beating all night against the barren stone,
The sound of useless rain in the desolate courtyard
Makes me more alone.

If you were here, if you were only here-
My blood cries out to you all night in vain
As sleepless as the rain.

Sara Teasdale (1884-1933). 4/26/2016.

The evening news goes on
anchorman's hurrying words and frenetic voice trail on
could there be another storm brewing?
is his hysterical voice a sign, a warning?
a spray of the evening shower lightly wets face and arm...
it is not enough, though,
to wash away the uneasiness of the moment,
the evening news goes on...

It doesn't want to end, this long evening,
for one confused soul..mind is wandering
through the night, it is aimlessly exploring
it doesn't want to end, this long evening...

A record plays...she quietly listens
crystal drops from her eyes glisten
she hums along, with Eydie Gorme's
"As a Love To You From Me"
blending, with the cool wind that whirs softly
while looking at a distant moon so creamy
recalling past yearnings that have grown intense
alone in her house, she can not pretend
while...
a record plays...she quietly listens

Repeatedly, she inhales...and exhales
for, breath smells of coffee gone stale...
this sleepless soul, with a mind still straying
will roam further, til sun comes out tomorrow morning,
when her whole being, finally would be surrendering...
but until then, she still would be trying
repeatedly, she inhales...and exhales

The evening news goes on
it doesn't want to end... this long evening
to some tunes, she quietly listens
repeatedly, she inhales...and exhales
the evening news goes on...

(an old, unposted poem)

  
Sally


Copyright September 21, 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan