Every morning, up at dawn, despite the ghosts the night before. And from the bed, jump and leave any weakness under the duvet. Herald now the glorious king, who from his thoughts has stricken fear, but each night he will lay alone in the dark, and it shall creep back in like when he was a child. And so the day blossoms on into work and the heavy heart is set to bow, guiding other little lost ships to shore, but when the light dies in the sky, the ghosts come wandering back in for their nightly tithe, then the goal is just to survive. A pity that nights bring less of rest then existential cracks, but these cracks are covered over with steel... and still... it would be better to have a heart to reach for in the dark... a little lighthouse to help avoid the rocks... but lighthouses are often haunted themselves
YOU ARE READING
Floating
PoetryI've collected a lot of works I have made for me and thrown them into a mess of empathic poetry I have done for others.
