Stars come out to play
when the sun settles for rest.
Night not the halt
of mirth's gentle reach.
Burdensome clouds sneer
juggling light of their own
for exhausted eyes
to awe and curse.
Lightning grabs my eyelids,
whisks them open to drink the dark.
An earplug has abandoned hope,
drums thundering on drums.
The billowing nimbus mutters to me
about the frailty of melatonin,
too proud to allow
me to miss its glorious display.
A blanket meager shelter
against the offending bolts.
Sleep summoned anew
broken and soured.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Here Thinking (2020-2022)
PoetryPoetry of varying subjects and construction, the second of three. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. Accolades: #1 Thought Provoking 2/26/2020 #1 Self-Reflection 3/22/2020 #1 Creative Writing 7/24/2020 #3...
