"sleepiness" poems
This desolate road seems forever long
And my worn feet will carry me through the ruin
All alone, but if you had heard my song
You might just understand why I’m doing
Maybe I’m the strongest person of us all
Maybe you’re used to me being alone
But that doesn’t mean that when I take a fall
I can survive, live on my own
Noticing someone else’s suffering is hard
Wrapped up in your troubles, with an aching heart
But if you open your eyes, you’ll see a man apart
If you can call me a man, I guess
Walking round with an unchanged expression
Ducking and keeping away from the deed
You might think it’s all to get attention
And you’re right, but that’s what I need
I knew a group of people whom my heart held dear
I loved them, and I love them still
But they weren’t there for me in my time of fear
Now I’m not gonna bend my will
How many days of quiet can I keep?
How hard will the blade into my mind seep?
How long can I hide away and weep?
Before you realise I’m not at best
So it’s time to say fare thee well
Don’t know where I’m strolling in my daze to
Just gonna follow my path down the well
See if it’s someplace new
So I’ve thought it through and through again
No pleading will make me change my head
Maybe, before, if I had a friend
But now, it’s too late to hear what I’ve said
The love I have for you will always burn
But my back’s to you, and I’ll always turn
If you haven’t figured it out, you’ll never learn
I want a hug, but I’m drowning in my sleepiness
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 3:11 AM UTC
Why is it so hard to sleep?
I lie down in my bed
Eyes shut tight
Sleepiness is in my head
Yet I can never sleep
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
Smells of the food cooking in the kitchen
Family gathered— ready and at attention
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
I remember when we used to play in the park
I remember when our Grandma told us to be in before dark
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
Sounds of laughter at Christmas time
I remember when we used to wait up for Santa
We were threatened with pepper in the eyes
Remember that?
Scared into sleepiness because our young minds didn’t know any better
With the morning sun, we rise and shine to open presents together
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
I remember these memories represented our close knit bond
People grow
People change
I guess it’s naivety to think it would forever stay the same
It’s the memories we cherish and should hold them close
Keeping the people near and dear that we love the most
Because there will come a time when the reaper must stake his claim
We never invite him, but it doesn’t matter because he already has the name
He may come in quick or take his time, but when he comes it leaves us blind
Blinded by hurt
Blinded by pain
Blinded by the fact we will never see our loved one again
Blinded by the new memories of a new type of hurt—a new type of pain
Then the memories overflow and fill the frontal lobe-the part of the brain where memories and speech are controlled
You become speechless because you become filled and overwhelmed with the loss
Family comes together to comfort each other
You haven’t seen some in years—it’s been so long since you’ve seen them you want to burst out in tears.
Kids have grown and don’t look the same
So handsome and beautiful, but you don’t remember their names
That’s how long—how long it’s been
Again, it’s a shame.
You ask, “Why does it take death to bring the family together again?”
Then, in an instant, tears begin to form in the wells of your eyes
You realize how things have really changed and you don’t quite understand why
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
I remember that there is a need to change the timeline
I remember when I decided to finally say
Don’t let the family, your blood, fade away
Embrace each other
Love each other
Motivate each other
Cherish each other
Protect each other
Keep each other
Continue to make memories—no matter how old we get
Make sure the family remains close knit
Yep, so many memories they just tend to cloud my mind
Family should always be together—until the end of time.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
He lets her touch him intimately, without emotion
when in some pretext she is alone,
in his cubicle with him, discussing things inane,
a software environs need not be concerned
some times when she passes through,
her longing crosses limits, these days
it has become frequent, to the extent others to notice.
she found silly excuses, fifth time this morning
but he can't hurt her feeling, a team member valued,
she contributes to his success, as the team leader
He can see her need for comfort,
under her tired eyes dark shadows of sleepiness
lay curled like a depressed mongrel,
yet another duel she had with that nincompoop
she calls her husband, all through last night;
a sudden pang he feels calls his wife
asks if she is fine, to ease his guilt that raises
its head like a snake from under the cover of grass.
"A housewife has a thousand things to do, why don't you
find a buxom colleague to flirt, if that is the need"
she banters and teases him on his illogical concerns.
Through the glass parting he discreetly watches her face
heard a murmur arising inside,"the ***** plans the next move"
panicked he tried to concentrate on the screen
that looked frightening, the deadline getting nearer and nearer
by each hour, he heard the heavy foot fall
at that moment he heard a thud, as if something fell down
everyone was running towards her workstation.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
Amadou awakened with a start, it was Omar one of the guardians(security guards) of Yaldagou (the largest Hospital in the capital of Burkina Faso) knocking on the window of his taxi, Amadou had just settled down for the night after a long day in the heat and fumes that was Ouagadougou it was just after midnight on Sunday, he struggled to wake up rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Omar explained in Mori(local language), that there were two white people in need of his special service.
After a quick explanation that someone had died in a private clinic nearby and the body needed to be transported to the morgue at Yaldagou, he snapped out of his sleepiness and thought for a moment how much he could charge the rich white people, it was two days after Eid and as a strict Muslim he had been celebrating the holidays and now he had been offered an opportunity to supplement his taxi income, someone had to do it and it was an unsavory job and anyway on the few occasions he had done it, it had been lucrative, it might as well be him!
Amadou thought to himself, if you had the misfortune to die in the day time there was a private service but in the night dignity went out the window and it was up to people like Amadou and a select bunch of taxi drivers with seats that could be configured to accommodate the corpses of the recently deceased to perform this service, so taxi 87 driven by Amadou would take this lady who had died from kidney and other ***** failures, after struggling for some days she eventually lost her battle and slipped into unconsciousness and finally died.
Amadou finally settled on 10000 CFA(local currency) a fair price, after all the so-called professionals would charge 30000 CFA three times more and it was around Eid "Allah Akbar".
A quick "Thank you" to Omar for helping them and the two white people left with him for the short journey to the clinic, after the usual discussions the body was released and transported to the morgue to join the other recently deceased waiting for burial in the morning,
Amadou, rearranged the seating in his taxi after parking up in his favourite place under the trees of Yaldago it was just after one thirty, a good ninety mins work he thought to himself, yawned, and settled down to sleep a few more hours before dawn prayers.
This was Africa and "someone had to do it" was his last thought.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 7:26 PM UTC
You’re frightened but, there is no need for fear.
Your eyes are barely open.
Your vision is blurred beneath your thickened lashes.
Blinded, you are.
Hazed, you are.
Sick, you are.
Lying on the minted tile floor,
back arched and your cheek pressed to a faded rug,
you roll on your side.
Tilting your head up, you moan.
The vicious pulse begins pounding your wounded head.
You roll again on your shrunken stomach,
bubbling over with an ocean of alcohol.
You drag your eyes up to the piercing light above you.
Adjusting yourself slowly,
your hands fumble for the floor beneath you.
The muscles in your arm strain as you push yourself to sit.
No strength.
The stained bathtub provides something stable to grasp.
Smeared makeup.
Hair stuck to your hollow face.
Memories scattering in the wind outside.
More pounding, but this time it isn’t in your head.
It’s booming outside the door.
Screaming and movement is caving in on you,
suffocating you.
Who’s outside?
What’s outside?
"It's okay”, he says “You’re fine now.”
You turn and stare.
How long has he been here?
He’s been watching you the entire time.
He knows something.
He’s done something to you.
That’s why your in this frightening room below the ground.
He stands and walks towards you.
You must stay strong.
Don’t flinch.
No weakness.
A gentle arm glides just under your leg
and the other behind your waist.
He lifts you up and a small whimper escapes your lips.
There’s pain.
He carries you into a familiar room through another door.
The pounding from outside grows softer.
Shoulders relax.
Forehead cools.
Sleepiness comes.
He sits on the bed with you in his lap.
Suddenly your alertness fades and you feel comforted.
“How much did you drink?” He asks timidly.
You lean your head back.
Funny.
“Just a little”,
your words slur from your swollen tongue.
You start to giggle.
Arms begin to sweat.
Stomach tightens.
Puke.
Tears.
Hushed.
“Shh now. You’re fine. It’s alright. Breathe. Breathe.”, He coo's
and slowly strokes your spine.
Tensions released.
He stands and walks to the door.
“No! Come back!”, You cry.
He’s leaving.
Why?
You reach your hand out,
like a child,
but draw it back quickly.
“Haven’t I always come back? This time is no different.”
Only a second passes and you’re out.
Not all the way.
Eyes closed.
A window opens.
The fan goes on.
A blanket covers you.
He’s there.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
Silent and alone, I flow through shops with so many
windows, but I see nothing except the faces around me, the ones
who might believe I'm more gossamer than the shawls and tunics
meant to disguise us all as ethereal hippies in the New Age.
Silent and alone, I stand by the fountain, waiting
for something to break the sleepiness of solitude when
two men spot me: mouths parted, eyes appraising, judging, appreciating my physical worth. Rooted in place, I smile.
Only when they look at me do I have purpose.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
Panic,
placed on the splintered edge of a dreaming mind,
I spit and sputtered, like the dying wings of
a dragonfly on a cold cappuccino morning.
She called me in the dark moody blue hue of early morning
as if to steal the broken moon from the attic in my chest.
So early I could hear the creak of spider legs
inching for a place of warmth.
Still in dream logic, she was crying so quietly
Melted spoons for a brain, I could only hear
the groans and pains of
the pet spiders on my ceiling,
their so cute and pissy in the morning.
She muffled "I need help"
I snapped awake as if a reflex to fight a charging train wreck.
This time advice came direct from my dream landscape the truth served dark black
and without the vanilla flavor.
I focus and get in gear "Hey girlie I am here, whats going on?"
An hour goes by a like a cat sneeze on a stormy day.
Again she laughs if I could see her, her smile would be wide tired and tear stained.
I laugh with her, while aching at the corner of my eyes " well hey try that tomorrow and if it doesn't work we can brainstorm to try something else. Call me tomorrow my sleepiness is welting my consciousness, I am not much use now except maybe for some mad hatter talk." A pause she sighs as if pushing of sleep. I wanted just one more smile to be sure" Stand strong if you can survive this hit the sky will clear for you. We'll strangle the rainmaker if we have to"
parting jokes and the call the ends, my moon back in my chest
content spiders basking in rays of light I can almost hear the hum of the morning sun.
I smile fading with the ceiling tucking me in, I can see her curled up with her stuffed animals half crying half terrified she falls to sleep drooling on her long time best friend
Mr finkers.
and
Finally the purr of happy spiders lulls be back to sleep.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 6:29 PM UTC
Of ***** roasting pans and racks and island fog!
*if you love me, then you know poems wright themselves when standing, driving, bus riding, ********** and especially when
doing manly battle, ******* ***** dishwashing midst island fog
a passing remark goes noticed and summoned to a
Friday night feast, roasted fowl, wild rice with golden raisins and mushrooms, English spring peas, was it a Montrachet?
for dessert the washing up is obligation mine, a traditional desertion,
separation of church and state, her cooking a church in which I worship, she states eloquently:
“Unto Caesaria , Render Her the cleanup”
this is hand to hand combat, no dishwasher mechanical
can scrub like the human hand, and with body english,
water hot, but no gloves employed for this is ***** man’s work,
not for sissies, cleaning roasting pans and roasting racks
that are at least twenty years burnt and crusted with a blackened
finish, residue of other lovers and dinners P.N. (pre-nat)
array three kinds of sponges and some human & metallic *****
no one asking which came first,
the scrubbing away of life feasting residues,
or the poem writing that comes with pre & postscript sleepiness
when I say the dark stains and the grease buildup are
flavor enhancers, am beknighted with starry stares of
“how stupid do you think I am?” and sadly return to the
Battle of Agincourt, the one the American lost….*
but they do source poems that flavor life
2020
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 11:54 AM UTC
You sit in sunshine
While nighttime caresses my lips
And sleepiness is a war keeping me
from your morning
You fit into tomorrow
While the past is a circle trying to be a square
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
You’re basic,
a lengthy silhouette
miming the human experience.
Staying up late
to blind yourself,
blinking to the sounds of sleepiness
heart beating to Skinny Love.
What ifs,
pre-recorded scenarios
imagining that first hug.
Contemplate that bottle of pills by the sink
that new film that you want to see,
condensation in the lid of the teapot.
You’re candid,
unsure if all scabs heal
trying to remember when you didn't have a writing callus,
when you slept through the night,
when purple was the only colour you didn't use.
Purify infectious matter,
***** green-blue wine glasses overflowing.
Tinfoil vases and orchid flowers,
melting boxes of 64 assorted crayons.
You’re laconic,
often dying to create,
like the verbose and the wordy
sighing simply to translate.
Missouri gift exchanges,
loose blue jeans ******
stacks of classics.
Tales of the Jazz Age wrinkling
to a slow 50s song.
You’re a try hard
dying to knit,
only true fear is disappointment
burning in the lime light.
6000 voluntary hours
linking syllables to daisy chains,
dropping pesos to foreigners,
hands sandwiched inside
the front cover and the first page
of The Count of Monte Cristo.
You’re basic,
down for maintenance,
compressing the weight of the atmosphere.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
Sleepiness has consumed
me lately—
my eyelashes
have little
tiny weights
on the tip
dragging my eyelids down
I don’t know
if I am
tired of life
or resting
to start anew.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Where on earth did all the time go?
The seeds of sleepiness start to grow
Time's constantly passing me by
as I keep asking myself 'why?'
So where has all of the time gone
What's it all been spent upon?
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 7:23 AM UTC
The bracing raindrops
dripping
onto the wooden trellis
then hitting the stone table
i happened to have just woke up
when dusk is brewing quietly
outside the windowpanes
vestigial sleepiness dissipating
just as gradually
the fluorescent light that's turned on
stings my sense of taste for a second
and i hear the sounds of a busy kitchen
the summer heat is gone for now
i kept myself occupied all afternoon
checking and reading on my phone
if time could stand still
I'd actually like it to stay
like this
people are in a smooth
peaceful mood
it seems
like they were years ago
it also seems perhaps
it will happen again
like years from now.
Oct 21, 2023
Oct 21, 2023 at 8:12 AM UTC
“Sir, this mole seems to be growing and spreading”
Suhail stopped the scissor and comb, and said
“It’s a bit grown than last month and even then, I noticed it spreading”
Suhail is my hair stylist for the last about six years
I have seen him growing from a Hair Analyst to Specialist to Senior Hair Specialist
There is something more than the generous tip that connects us
May be my willingness to abide by his experiments with my hair
Or reciprocation of loyalty that bound us every month
Surprised, I asked him, “What mole are you talking about?”
“Don’t you know the black mole on the back side of your left ear” puzzled Suhail
“You go and check with Madam, may be its my feeling only”
“How would madam know about it Suhail, she doesn’t cut my hair!”
“Arre Sir, you too!” Suhail had a vicious smile on his face
“Come on tell me” I prodded him with the same viciousness
We got into wayward pastime …
“Arre, Sir, they get to see it…
When you lay down on her lap in those afternoons
And she combs your hair with her fingers
And when you fall into that muddle of sleepiness and excitement
Her eyes would lock it”
“Arre, Sir, they get to see it…
When she comes from the back as on paws of a cat
Hugs and hold you tight with her hands
And press her face on your shoulder
Her eyes would lock it”
“Arre, Sir, they get to see it…
When those drenched lips move away from your lips
And the craving teeth leave a hickey on that earlobe,
Her eyes would lock it”
Suhail finished the haircut and I left tipping him as usual
The drive back home searched through the labyrinths of memories
Of caressing fingers, tight hugs and hickeys
Why didn’t she mention that mole, ever?
“Honey, you never told about that Mole,
Come on, let me see and let’s go to a Dermatologist quickly
We can’t take these things lightly; the doctor may even suggest a biopsy
Biopsy is fully covered in your mediclaim, isn’t it?”
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
High above the Holy River Ganges
where the water flows like Brahman itself,
is an ancient cave, a place of sacred pilgrimage.
Entering silently, our small gathering
sat together, meditating here where the great
sage himself transcended in deep samadhi.
Wrapped in warm shawls, dhotis and saris,
eyes closed gently in the stony half-light.
Early hours had seen us awake, readying
for this auspicious day, and the sleepiness
of a little child began to overtake me.
With that same innocence, a childlike feeling,
I curled down into a woolen bundle, asleep
in the inner depths of that holy, dark place.
Sleep was sleep, and not sleep,
as awareness shone within me.
Limitless akasha unfolded inside me now,
and the ground where I rested expanded
into that same unbounded, cosmic space.
From far beneath the cool, damp earth,
a radiance travelled into my small frame.
Renewing energy suffused and blessed me.
Bowing in my heart, I touch the lotus feet
of Maharishi Vashistha. His darshan
shines on into our present day, and
throughout all of Ved Bhumi Bharat.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 12:16 PM UTC
it's during times like this
i crave to be with you
within a sluggish weather
melodic raindrops
smashing into the window
dancing on the rooftop
smell of the petrichor
under dark gloomy clouds
chilly atmosphere
windy drowsiness
sudden rush of sleepiness
it's during times like this
i crave to be with you
a bed too big for one
a blanket too thin for warmth
not even the cup of coffee
my lips taste and kiss
will suffice for my longing
of your presence that i miss
-djs
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
the quality of being authentic
(AUTHENTIC IS)
(of undisputed origin; genuine)
messy buns a little bit too messy to be pretty, hair falling all over
a camera held loosely, fingers easily finding the record or picture button by muscle memory
years of bad relived in words spilling out to another entity for need of connection and know
pacing back and forth, staring at walls, and misplaced hand gestures all while talking to yourself
what too many people crave for so bad
what turns stale when too many people crave it so bad
stale
found 75 pages deep into a blog found from someones reblog of anothers' reblog at midnight
drunk like sleepiness, the slightly tipsy shitpost on the verge of deep conversation
open skype calls with gritty laptop cameras and headphones, talking talking talking
waking up at 3 am and writing something down immediately so as to not forget it
post dinner midnight snack cereal
"i don't really know how i am. how about you, how are you?"
talking to your dog
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
not one flake on my outstretched hand
the snow can't decide when to fall
despite Doplar's predictions
a chill is in the air
the first feel of winter
the taste of pine trees
traveling on the breeze
downhill to my front porch
permeating my senses
invading my nose and tongue
coming out of my ears like steam
sticking evergreen needles
into my mind's eye
'tis the season to be cold
draft's crispness creeping under the door
sending a shiver up my spine
slipping sleepiness into my yawn
with two feet of snow soon to be on my lawn
time for storm windows and fatwood
and to check my chimney's flow
as Meteora lights my fire
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 5:12 PM UTC
as day closes
I lay on my right side in night’s envelope
knees bent in semi-fetal position
my right hand reaches up and across
resting upon the coolness
of my exposed left shoulder
chin touching upon forearm
I ponder sunlight’s hours
where the insecurity of others
spews green venom
and imaginary superiority
reeks yellow breath
in the darkened quiet of sleepless sleepiness
I find that little spark
the enabler that allows me to love others
in a sometimes unkind, uncaring and thankless world
it is the comfort and peace we all seek
a feeling of belonging
to the earth
to the universe
to one’s self
no matter what others may think
no matter what happened during the day
no matter how hard it was
in that last moment of conscious thought
before drifting back into the womb
of softness and dreams
I know that I love myself
in triumph and contentedness
I love myself
no matter what
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 4:27 PM UTC
So this morning
I was tired
and passing out
on the chair
so I decided
as a good Buddhist
to wake up
and defeat sleepiness
so I went
out to the patio
where it was cool
and meditated
dropping off occasionally
until at last
after much trying
I defeated sleep
and woke up
and Buddha has said
that sleep is the closest thing
to death.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 4:25 AM UTC
Stage One begins the fun;
First sips reveal the bitter
Blast of hops and alcohol.
BAC is point oh-three, which reads as
"Confident & Daring."
Attention Span and
Flesh are flushed
In dual ways,
(Please catch my drift.
Euphoric people, still
May have a need for shrift.)
Sometimes such things are said or done
That later are not wished.
Judgment begins to slide
On entry of Stage Two.
A numbness in the tongue,
A blurring of the eyes,
Which do not yet see two.
Sometimes as low as point oh-nine BAC,
"Excitement" names the awkward teetering
Between slow thought and sleepiness.
Stumbled response takes coordination,
But the drinker cannot see his weaviness.
Stage Three arrives at point one-eight
And takes the name "Confusion."
Staggered is the walk, and one can sit
And feel the moving of the world.
The maudlin lover here appears,
Replaced by jealous hate that burns
Or bursts in untoward rage that disappears
In an instant's instant, only to return.
Stage Four is Cousin Stupor,
Threshhold BAC is point two-five.
The drinker turns into a Turtle,
Unmoving, Unaware, but still alive,
He cannot stand nor walk,
May drown upon his *****
And if he lies, should do so on his side,
Though he cannot without assistance
From a brother or a bride.
Stage Five, Fra Coma, may start at point three-five,
Cool skin, slow breath, heart beat, (just barely),
Asleep he may appear, or dead,
As Death stands near.
Stage Six occurs at BAC point five,
Bar Tender Death moves on
To find someone Alive.
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 2:36 PM UTC
If we are puppets,
Then sleepiness
Is a dangerous
Puppeteer.
He creeps up on you
And hijacks your
Mind and body
Your eyes are closing
Your body feels heavy
Your head may drop off
Anytime
Your shoulders are drooping
Your feet are weary
Your back supports you
No more
Your head is swaying
Your body is aching
Oh how you wish you were
In bed
*You can’t hear properly
You can’t speak properly
You don’t care
Anymore...*
...he whispers in your ear
And this is when
Sleepiness
Slips you onto
His puppet strings
And starts to sway
Your bearings
One, two
One, two
You plod on
Left, right
Left, right
Your vision starts to spin
*You can’t hear properly
You can’t speak properly
You don’t care
Anymore...*
...he whispers in your ear
Continuing on
Your way
You know what you’re doing
But yet, don’t notice
Anything
Around you
Until that loud beep
Jolts you from your sleep
And brings you out of
The puppeteer's spell
The puppet strings
Are broken
And you are left
To face reality
The fact that you could've should've
Died
*You can’t hear properly
You can’t speak properly
You don’t care
Anymore...*
...he whispers in your ear
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
Country nighttime turned off the world
Absolute window blacking
Any other life void-invisible
Universe shrunk snack-size
Existence is only this cab,
these tiny lights,
this fuzzing radio
One direction
Only ahead
Only these tracks
A change in rhythm signals new territory
Lower infrastructure spend
Budget acknowledged by
transitioning drum track
More toms
Double kick
More bass, but
no less hypnotising, no less soporific, no less slowing, no less…
Snap.
Driver vigilance alarm earns its keep
Pierced by safety sound needles
Bleary eyes split open
Only closed for seconds
Enough to dry 3am eyelash glue
Intermittent, intensifying battle
Open versus closed
Here versus where
Wake versus yawning, rocking, mesmerising, irresistible…
Snap.
Assistance required
Scan for options
Snoozing thermos drools its last drips onto the floor mat
Moment of silence for coffee, our absent friend
What else?
Lunch box offers carrot sticks
Sharp, crisp, smug
No help. What else? Cake.
A silent bargain
– okay calories, we’ve had our differences, but we need to pull together
Health is tomorrow, safety is now
Sleepiness shrinks and stretches place and time
There is only here
Only now
Battle and bargains
Winning and losing
Until the sun comes up
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 10:53 PM UTC
I walk down to the stream,
a ghost among the tendrils of mist
wakening from the moist air.
The half-moon gives a weak light to my feet,
but grows stronger
as the night rises
and shakes off the sleepiness of twilight.
Sitting on a rough stone,
I look into the shadows
and begin to think.
I pull out my flashlight, try to write,
then turn it off and stare at the stars.
Branches of the tree above me grasp at the wind.
I wrestle with much more,
but cannot grasp my thoughts
or the inconceivable movement
within my soul
any better than I can subjugate the bodiless air.
A melancholy that is not sorrow
settled on me a year ago
this night, in the dark of October's waning moon.
I stand up and leave the stone to wander.
I meet the banks of the shallow stream
and stand there for a while, empty.
There is nothing,
there has been nothing,
for twelve months
since I renounced my pain and bitterness.
Everyone tells you that somehow
love will find you
when you let go of hate.
Everyone is wrong.
The stars spin
in their slow, silent dance;
the highway sighs in the distance;
the moon rises slowly as it had done
for thousands of years.
"Speak!" I importune the stars.
They do not answer.
"Show me your light!" I implore the moon.
The moon hangs there,
still,
among the darkness of the stained sky.
"Answer!" I demand of the sky,
and the sky says nothing.
Twelve months of solitude,
of emptiness and silence,
hovering over the abyss.
I have looked into the abyss.
The abyss has looked into me.
And slowly, like the setting moon,
like the way a fever ends in peaceful sleep,
I begin to fall.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC