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
Farewell to a constellation
Of regret, but mostly memory
And memory cherished.
No night without dreaming
And I dream,
I dream of naught.
No stars without darkness,
No morning I sought.
And to say goodbye to
Friends become family
And family become blood bought.
How quickly I forget
How quickly the memory runs cold and blameless.
How quickly I’m forgot
And we remember that this is meaningless.
Posted in Personal
Tagged blood, constellation, darkness, family, forget, forgot, friends, goodbye, leave, memory, poem, poetry, regret, star
This face on the ground
With debris all around,
If it had a mouth
What would it say?
If eyes, what would it see today?
The stealer of identity
A silencer of secrecy.
It becomes anyone and anything,
As swiftly as the past takes wing,
It can be everyone and no one.
And nothing and all blood.
There behind its simple facade,
It laughs, and pretends to be God.
Posted in Musing
Tagged blood, eyes, face, God, ground, identity, laugh, mask, poem, poetry, secret, wing
Tired from the day, she’s still and cold.
Tired from the blood she’s carried.
Long life past, now she’s old.
Now far from demons she’s long buried.
No regrets, her own grown strong,
They’ll find a new grave to carry
Her to where she can rest from demons wake,
From the words of death she spake,
From what she carried for so long,
So her own to demons pacts
Would not be sold.
Or so I’m told.
She takes this secret to her grave.
The children know of what she gave,
But not of sacrifices made.
Posted in Life and death
Tagged blood, buried, chidren, demon, grave, life, lion, lioness, poetry, rest, sacrifice, sleep, tired, wake