a poem about the inner thinking as darkness descends
A dim light glows in the vestibule.
No sounds escape the deep.
Could time have slipped away somehow?
And left no air for me.
Walk along and smell the grasses.
Feel along and grasp the thorns.
Could life have been this short, so barren?
For fear we'd not been born.
Wake the gentle monster sleeping.
Allow his thoughts to taste the air.
He may not know his life is winter.
He may not even care.
Worry me a life less gentle.
I've seen dreams I dare not mention.
Take a line from a long weekender.
"False hope is not redemption."
Feel my pulse so slow, so steady.
Nothing shakes and not my hands.
Smell no fear and fear no malice.
My conscious can not stand.
So, shut off the lights at bedtime.
Pull the covers tightly about your neck.
Feel warm and cozy in your concrete lair.
Sleep cold and never sweat.