Laying in Bed

Night lands at the hand's last strike,

and suddenly all the prior garbage ignites in a flame of corruption

now inside the mind, no longer scattered outside but

a compact, a tension, a pressure, rolled tight...

as it falls from one temple to the other claiming to shine

yet a flame of the lies...

and how funny a process that only arrives when settling down,

when slowing your eyes...

how funny, how uncomfortable a bonfire that lights only after the wood dies,

and it's time to lie down and slow your eyes...

everything else that day seems happy, seems prime, 

you accept what is, smile, and don't ask why

until night lands at the hand's last strike...

when we slow our eyes and hurry the thoughts that want to know why,

filing the opponents of our endless white sky

Comments

Angelwith1wing

This poem is uniquely written and very powerful. The details really does pull the reader into the poem as if they could see it and feel it right in front of them. Nice work!!! God bless you and keep writing on my friend:)!!!

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