Saturday, July 27, 2013

A Ghost In The Dark


the walls are feeling closer

pressing on me again.

the light outside the window

is causing my skin to burn.

I’m liking the dark much more these days

not hiding, just refuge found.

falling into restless sleep

and dreaming away my time.

I wake up on the couch now

day after day after day.

can’t take myself down that lonesome hall

I miss the comfort of my bed.

nothing is right, unsettled at best

the one true signal for change.

I’ve said it before and feel it again

I am sick and tired of this.

I want something static even just for awhile

long enough for me to catch my breath.

it seems I’ve been running endlessly now

I can’t seem to make any of it fit.

the pieces are jagged, sharp at the edge

I keep cutting my hands on them.

trying to put myself back together

I truly don’t know where to begin.

on a recent trip back in time

to the place I once called home.

I slept the sleep of an innocent child

for six nights in a row.

this hasn’t happened in years for me

I’m a ghost haunting my own nights.

holding candlelit vigils

waiting for some dreamt of return.

I don’t even know what I’ve lost now

I’ve felt undone for so long.

unhinged, unbalanced, swinging wildly

like a broken door in the wind.

3 comments:

  1. There is a comfort level in this refuge. Sometimes I like the 'burn' as long it's on my terms. It stimulate the verve in contrast to stagnance stillness dormant emptiness

    I have also been pressed by the darkness encloded by the walls.

    :-)

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  2. Oh wow. It is surprising how acutely I can relate to your words. Line by line by line, I could feel my own chaotic thoughts shaped into your poem. It is very intriguing and thought-provoking though. Your use of imagery is brilliant, as always. You are one of my favourite poets. Keep up the great work. :D

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  3. I wake up on the couch now

    day after day after day.

    can’t take myself down that lonesome hall

    I miss the comfort of my bed.

    geez, this was always a telltale sign for me as well, a piece of furniture designed to be transitory in nature becomes an unsteady home.
    a sad but beautiful poem i just could endlessly relate to.

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