Poetry · Uncategorized

Insomnia

People often wonder what happens in your room

when the sky goes black.

Is there a Sandman there to bring you dreams?

Are there creatures in the closet?

 

They ask about what happens

when your eyes are closed,

if something happens during those early hours of the AM.

Do things even happen?

 

I can tell you.

I live there.

Those hours between midnight and six A.M.

That is where I live.

 

I am moonlight.

I am shadows.

I am early, early sunlight.

I am fog and morning dew.

I am dark thoughts

and tear stained pillow cases.

 

I am insomnia.

Poetry

How I Remember You

The way the wind blows
Through the trees in autumn
Chilling you to the bone
It is the feeling you get
When you are at a concert
And everything feels right
Almost like you are on top of the world
Or the waves crashing
On the soft yellow sand
Destroying their beautiful patterns
Or how a leaf falls
Slowly and laying there
Dead
It is the way you tie your shoes
without even thinking about it
It is an old song
Followed by a memory
And burns your heart
That is how I remember you