MY MIDNIGHT REVERIE

When I can not sleep, when I have seen two movies and my eyes have refused to close to this world; when I am tired but time is counting, I pick up my laptop and write.

Source
These four poems are from my archive. They were in the folder where i keep works no one would accept. I bring them to you to enjoy and contemplate on as I battle the heat, the mosquitoes, as well as watch the moon sail the sky.

ALL THAT IS LEFT

Some days are we not lights;
Small lights that flicker
In the darkness of this earth?
Something to lead a father
To the ever warm arms of home?

---

Sometimes are we not songs
Wafting the wind of this earth;
Soothing some girl lying somewhere
In the silence of her dark room,
Praying for heaven to come?

---

Some days are we not hope
Trudging through the dunes of tomorrow,
Carrying faith on our hunched backs
For the lost ones sitting before the emptiness?

---

Are we not all that is left
Of the sun when the night comes?
Are we not the echo
Of the soothing lullaby when the pain cramps?
Are we not the remnant
Of what is good in this earth?
Are we not all that is left
Of the sun when the night comes?

WHEN WE PART WAYS

Please wait;
Do not go just yet.
Do not exit this space
And leave just memories behind;
It is never enough.
Please let me see the sun
In the iris of your eyes.

---

You are the falling portents for the prophets
Clinging to the empty sea;
The cold stars shaving their lights.
Off the shaking tree.
You are the bleeding voice of pain
Spilling from under my broken ribs.
You are the emptiness within;
The silence that lies within.

---

Please do not shimmer
Like the sun on the fading sea;
Do not forget me like the passing wind
Of the leaving rains.
Please do not die like the last petal
Of the drought eaten hibiscus,
Like a goodbye on sealed lips.

THERE IS PAIN INSIDE ME

The night is inside me;
The haunted cry of crickets mourning life,
The desperate croak of frogs forgotten on the river bank.
The night ghosts through me like a finger of soft breeze,
A whisper of sorrow, muttering from burrowed pain.

---

The night enshrouds me
Like grave clothes clothing fear in darkness.
The blank gaze of the blind distant stars
Glimmer between grass blades and
The crusts of falling soil;
Flutters between the warp and weft of velvet hue;
A dirge of fleeing breath.

---

The night beside me;
A shadowed visage of black steel
Wiping blood on the skin of taut dread,
In the dangling copse of moonlit bowers,
Silvery like diamond studded bowls in the empty void.

THE DIRGE

There is sand in my mouth
And ashes on my head;
There are bowed knees on the earth
And sack cloth wrapping my broken skin.
I am a mourner’s shroud of tears
And the heaving shoulder of grief;
I am the depressing familiarity of memory
And I am the dirge of the world.

---

There is dust in my eyes
And stars beyond my grip;
There is an inferno in my home
And dying fishes on the shore.
I am a bag of hungry wail
And that broken star on a meteor’s trail;
I am the empty promises of fickle dreams
And I am the dirge of the world.

---

There is rain on my roof
And owls on my eaves;
There is fevered heat in the walls
And death is everywhere.
I am the sickle and sheaf
And the reaper in his cowl;
I am the darkness of beyond
And the end of every lie;
I am dirge of the world.

---

There is hunger in my hands
And thirst on my feet;
There are prayers on my pyre
And dirt in my nails.
There is humus on my grave
And mourners at my gate.
I am the shackles of the slaver
And echoes of the fleeting world;
I am the song of slavering dogs
And the brokenness that sits within;
I am the dirge of the world.

---

There is a silence in my heart
And vacuum in my lungs;
There is a fire in my eyes
And there’s a moon in the sky.
I am the air that I breathe
And the river that I swim;
I am the retribution and the blood;
The baton and the cross
And I am the dirge of the world.

---

All photos are from Pixabay except otherwise sourced. Thanks for stopping by.

art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics

Peace

©@warpedpoetic