I remember it was eight when
I decided to close the lids of my eyes;
it was a deep sleep of temporary death,
not until the ticking clock on the wall
woke me up that sounded like a ritual of
nocturnal call for someone meant to be called.
I was then staring on the ceiling
and it felt strange because my soul
seemed to be floating so I diverted
my visual perception to the fenestra
where I could see the moon
flirting with the stars in quite a distance.
Then I opened the framed glass and
was welcomed by the bleak air of the
ungodly hour of the night; and
that was when I found my body
levitating, yet despite the chills I began
to wander and found you hibernating.
I never thought of seeing you
in my nocturnal excursion while your
body is curled besieged with pillows,
wondering if we're sharing the same
dream but I have to go back and
wake up from this clouded imagination.
YOU ARE READING
Blued Lines
PoetryTo those whose heart has been ripped apart, you're not alone in the boat. If you think that poets write wonderful lines and echoing endings, then you got it wrong because we also get broken and as you read each poem, the sadder and painful it become...
