After all this time am I still awake?
Or am I still sleeping? One cannot know.
This a colored lens, anxieties take?
I don’t think it would make a difference so,
Our hours, what we perceive to be day,
Are spent towards the twilight leaning;
And what’s imagined to be night will say:
Rest. Awake. Do not spend all time dreaming.
Reality demands a sacrifice.
I will rise and in doing so procure
A dream that has enough blood to suffice.
What does the waking world hold that’s allure?
I will stay asleep and remember when,
Reality is a place I had been.
Posted in Life (or something like it), Sonnets
Tagged allure, asleep, awake, blood, day, dream, hour, night, poem.poetry, reality, remember, sacrifice, sleep, time
In the darkened forest of
Those below and those above,
Followed I am through the dead and rustling leaves.
Summer sun or autumn light?
All but forgotten where I might
Have awoken in the midst of those lost trees.
My only clue is the warm
Of the breeze that around me swarms.
Here something whispers: “Winter is not far.”.
There’s a break in the canopy
That offers no new sight to see,
Only the grey that stretches on and on and on.
My steps carry me no farther
The wind carries words from afar, her
Messages are seldom those of comfort, much less of wisdom.
Raindrops and a cold now herald
The days end; my easy path turned feral.
Just how cold and wet remains for me to be seen.
No shelter, no end, no rest,
I wander on, and do my best,
To stay on a straight path, and not become more lost.
With daylight now expired
I sit, my eyes so tired,
And hope when I awaken that the world will be a different place.
I awake without opening my eyes
I’ll not do so voluntarily, something else must pry,
For the rustling of leaves tells me something I ought not to hear.
Standing up and pushing on,
I tread paths where nothing belongs,
And an echo of a whisper repeats: “Winter is not far.”
Posted in From the shadows
Tagged awake, dark, echo, eye, forest, leaf, leaves, path, poem, poetry, rest, tree, whisper, winter
I don’t remember waking up, I am simply here.
Much like this, my dying then, will one day appear.
Between day and night, this transition,
Between waking and dreaming, those conditions,
The boundary seemed to fade.
Across this river, there was no toll that my soul was meant to pay.
Suddenly I’m dreaming, and just the same awake.
Suddenly I don’t remember when my sleep was forced to break.
Later I shall tire and to another dream then drift,
Where afterwards I’ll remain unable to recall such a rift.
More and more he wanted to show,
How he hated the way I’ve grown
And lack of compassion shown,
But this dim light.
Here swallowing fear for so long,
The darkness has dimmed the sight
He once used to view hope.
And in it’s absence, he cried.
She wanted to love me more,
She said she could not before
I shed my despair. She says: “Just try!”
But I see no love in those eyes,
Stay down. The conductor waits,
To preform another movement.
I’ll try to guess what that is.
So tired of sitting.
So tired of sleeping awake.
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged awake, conductor, darkness, despair, eyes, grown, love, poetry, sitting, sleeping, tired, waiting