A Year of Poems – 208

One still small room
Locked in perpetual memory
Spinning out into old dreams
Half remembered only now
In the witching hour when all else sleeps
The mind ventures to old territory –
Decades old delusions in the somnatic realm

The walls close in
I cannot get out
Thus it has been
Thus it will be
The dreams call and chatter
Like a thousand voices
Whispering and yelling simultaneously
Quiet as death
Violent as memory
Dark as events which never happened

Then sleep comes
And the light shines in the window pane
Cracking through with all the glory of a day.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s