A grey sky
A lonely day
A different way to say
Much in the same way
When rain comes and goes
Through the storm it shows
This is the direction to go
A path that winds below.
Paths onward from sun setting
Following another days bloodletting
A tired moon casts her netting
Sleep is a dream I’m getting.
Posted in General
Tagged below, bloodletting, dream, Moon, path, poem, poetry, rain, sleep, storm, sunset
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
I hold a once-life
It shall remain here sleeping.
Resting in my hand
It gave its breath keeping,
Its heat to give back,
Its heart nevermore beating.
The wings no longer carry
Its small form into the sky
It simply lays here
I held a once-life and it remains there dreaming.
Posted in Life and death
Tagged beating hold, bird, dream, fly, heat, held, nevermore, poem, poetry, sky, sleep, wing
She is awoken by voices,
She is alone.
In a strange place
She calls home.
Echoing off the walls,
In the midst of silence found,
They who have no name,
Each of their words resound.
She hates the silence,
It’s when they are so loud.
Whatever noise she can make
To ward off absent sound.
There is a voice she fears above most,
The one who, from the silence, boasts.
She hates his persistence.
She is insistent that he leave.
She fails and fails and fails again.
Any other voice from the din!
The many shout at her,
She does not give in.
But the one quietly calls,
From behind a door that’s cracked open
When the others leave.
He calls to her, her fears.
Things forgotten from across the years,
And then she remembers why
They were pushed aside.
Then in her heart
She deeply wishes the voices to depart.
And she hears
So softly in her ear,
“You will believe us absent, asleep,
You will rejoice in your soul deep.
You will forget what I tell you now
And you will remember each time we return our sound
You, in your fear, may not belong,
And we will never truly be gone.”
She closed her eyes,
And awoke alone; or so she was told.
She rose to the window,
And thought the sun too bright to be this cold.
Posted in From the shadows
Tagged alone, awoke, bright, cold, echo, fear, forget, gone, hate, home, loud, place, poem, poetry, remember, resound, silence, sleep, soul, sun, voice, window, words
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.
Shall he remain fallen cold, buried here?
The various pains of living follow him.
And waking up to a grey sky so clear,
A midday light beyond the moon grows dim.
They were followed here, this is nothing new.
They know better than this untrodden path.
Before them, those that followed, they were few,
Fewer still who returned. Dim: this light past.
After they will break as water on rock,
They will scatter as shadows in the light.
Here the new headstones do nothing to block.
Various pains drive residents to flight.
I’ll dream of things unspoken, rest undone,
In my shallow sleep gift under the sun.
Posted in Sonnets
Tagged buried, dim, fallen, follow, grey, Moon, pain, path, poem, poetry, rest, shadow, sky, sleep, sun
I had died atop a wall and my grave found me smiling.
I died not from the fall, but in the change of dying.
Form to form, now not the same.
As one who sleeps through winter
No snow on my eyes fallen,
As in death there is no winner.
Through seasons of my body? No,
Through seasons of my soul.
My former self has died, but I
Shall live on or so I’m told.
Posted in Personal
Tagged body, change, die, eye, Fall, live, poetry, season, sleep, soul, wall, winner, winter