slid through water of
a night's tear weeping pillow
which holds face after face --
face to sinking cool
and night was and is,
the shadow, blanket
of day which sometimes
needed and needs to
not be so bright.
surely the joker
is suffocating on his
white grin
which must ache
like overstretched focus
snapping back so fast,
it becomes nothing
and less.
day wipes the face of
night clean, fingers of light
wringing out all is yours
of a night's tear weeping pillow
which soaked through
the mattress.
(13th September 2013)
YOU ARE READING
Blue Moon
Poetry"Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes." - Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There (2012 - 2014)
