Forgotten Voices Poem by bob barci

I lay sound asleep
in my cozy little bed.
So warm and comfortable
I could stay forever.
I dream of three ice skaters
who practice in a rink.
They skate together in rhythmic time.
Then, separate, to perform feats of magic.
Sometimes they miss,
and come crashing to the ground,
or plow into the wall.
The sound that makes,
it scares me so.
Sounds so real,
I don't know what to think.
But, I'm still asleep
cause the dream goes on.
A skater tries a mid-air flip,
but doesn't quite make it,
and crashes to the ground
with a sound that jars me from my sleep - shaking.
After awhile,
I settle down enough
to make another attempt at sleep.
But that sound comes again!
And again!
And again!
It can't be!
I'm wide awake!
I don't understand,
how can it be?
Those sounds,
they're somewhere in this room!
But, ssssshhhhhhh!
Listen!
There are voice!
Muffled as they are,
they speak!
To me!
Oh God, please,
stop these voices from haunting me.
What do they want from me?
Listen, carefully.
The voices, near the window.
No, can't be, I'm on the second floor!
Huh? What was that?
A rattling sound.
Another crashing.
Please, Skaters, do stop.
You frighten me when you miss and -
(C R A S H ! ! ! ! ! !)
Oh, I'm not dreaming.
This is real.
I know!
I'll get up and turn the light on!
Maybe that will make
the sounds and voices go away.
Probably all in my imagination anyway.
A brilliant shock
takes over my room.
It takes awhile for my eyes to adjust.
OH GOD! ! NO! !
Look! My desk drawer!
It shakes before my eyes!
Something inside wants out.
Sounds. Voices.
From whatever's inside?
I slowly ease over to the desk,
to open the drawer
for whatever pops out.
I nervously open the drawer,
half expecting.
But, nothing.
Nothing flies out at me.
There are no sounds.
No rattling.
But, voices, barely audible.
They come from the books.
Books of poems I've written.
Written, years ago.
Forgotten about.
Forgotten voices that still need to be heard.
Someone today understands
my voices of yesterday.
Dusty as they are,
they still can be heard.
Still making noises.
Calling for attention.
Forgotten voices of yesterday
haunt your tomorrows.