To sleep is to encounter the most forked of paths.
One may enter a dreamless sleep or the reverse,
A fitful or still, Painful or less
is better than more?
And one would suppose the sleepless dream..
And everyday and evening I look forward to,
the gentle throes of exhaustion,
pining to the early morning then to stumble
directionless
ahead to the embrace of
soft mountains and hard rivers,
It's a pleasure to know the company of an exhumed breath
even the soreness of the jaw
can be ignored
if a beloved has kissed your tears
away.
And to part when time is due, brings you to your knees,
with the warmth slipping past,
the impression in the mountained valleys begins to fade
though you reach your hands out to scoop
out
nothing but the mould of brewed light that trickles
out.
It is this cold that takes over one as you set about
your day
that you would want to grasp those comforts
again.
And it is the heavy hollowed heart that hates to
part
and you chase after the whole,
round the bend
and dream of empty thoughts
again.
To sleep is to be released from heavy muscles fleshy bodies groaning whispers
agnostic doubt.
But pardon I for me
chase the hurried dusk
if clouds spoke I listen
no sense et la rêverie
allow me rest
Any will suffice
