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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2232044
Waking in a strange place.
Sometimes on Waking

Frequently now.
I wake to an unfamiliar scene,
on one wall a blank canvas,
a cat crouched on a dresser
and the door in the wrong place,
the mind displaced,
groping to remember,
unable to grasp things
in a semblance of order.
How long does it take,
a few seconds, perhaps many,
but always the canvas shifts,
no longer featureless,
a blind drawn before a window,
the door makes sense,
standing where it always is,
and the cat, a sweater
thrown carelessly upon
the same old dresser.
It’s only a moment
but I can’t help but feel
that it’s a game,
a practical joke
played by sleep
on a mind befuddled by time.

Line Count: 25
Free Verse
Just a thought.
No contest, no prompt.

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