Nights

Night is when the day ends,
And day is when the night ends,
Gather up your moonlit wreckage,
So you can wallow in your guilt and sorrow,

Wake up to the twilight of another day. Imbalance in your hours, balance it out with white rails and poppy flowers.

Pass another mirror. Sense a reflection, wretched. Your guise that of Medusa. With every fiber you manage not to peer.

Dig another hundred holes. Each stick makes the dream less close. Dreams are for those who sleep. There hasnt been none, since you you chased the dragon instead of counting the sheep.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

we always are looking for something to balance us out...I seem to wake up every day tilting to one side,
with my mind tilted in another. And I dig plenty of holes, sleep in some of them, scream from some of them.
I like this piece and am pretty amazed that 130 folks read this and not one commented on it.
j.