Soft sleep, she whispers, wakes
and here, says we must rest
again. And doze. Again, my dear thing, let us —
drowse daydreamer, distant dream voyageur
barely awake, I don't remember.
Slumber, she laughs a sigh
somewhere between the paths of dreams
and wilderness of nightmarish things,
— we must rest — (?)
and elsewhere, she reminds me again:
— we must rest, we must rest —
head aches, I've had a headache for a while
(one day, one night, another day and perhaps another night)
caffeinated day. I drag, myself, I drag, myself through the day
and yet, stare into the moon's eyes at night, awake we toss and turn
sleep distant daydreamer, sleep
and forget it all until tomorrow and drag yourself through
yawn (she bruises like a peach
—[ laughs] long time since I've heard that expression —
yeah, [laughs also] she's old-fashioned)
blink.
is it really?
sleep distant daydreamer, just sleep,
close your sad eyes, voyageur
and we sleep, and we sleep.
(11th December 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)
