Your room at first
near perfect dark,
you breathe in sleep.
Diffuse light blurs
the curtains edge,
My head is clear
the night is hung,
thy bidding beckons
from our bed,
until this thing is done.
Years project uncertain
through sticky shrinking web,
net strung from light
of distant stars.
Aspire despite desire,
petroglyphs on gravel,
channel marker, silent throbs
intermittent stream.
Clock drips moments,
fridge shudders another cycle,
sleeping descendants
inhale the night,
Peace and deep full lull,
exhale near audible peaks
unworded whispers
room to room.
On occasion clocks
tick in unison
room to room.
Nearly concealed rustle of
plastic bags by the laundry,
The silence ticks
with punctuated clicks
of an old mans stretching bones
and muffled sigh,
The house and its materials
differentially cool and shrink;
Why would he bother here,
our ancestors were more fun?
Lull and peak,
lull and peak,
Did-dod…, did-dod…,
did-dod…, did-dod…,
unravels the strings of time,
Cacophony of little noises
ambient and discrete,
Amplified by silence
devoured by a sepulchral
grumbling erupting snore,
The fridge shivers another cycle,
sleepers breathe in lull and peak;
the house cools and fidgets
near the old back door.
The persistence of insomnia... Perfectly placed by wording and positioning. The sounds thoughts traumas and memories of lot loves and relatives all causing a mind kerfuffle. Bravo dear poet.. Karen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When sleepless, everything is game. You’ve done a good job here Danny.