PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

After my sleep,

-which was not peaceful

but only a pause from despair,

a blankeing nothingness,

where my exhausted Self

was a given a moment of brief repse-



I awaken,

not to a morning of tender sunbeams

through my window,

but to a dark night of emptiness,

devoid even of moonlight,

which takes me into it

like a mother takes a child to her breast

and I go willingly,

too weak to resist.



I stumble throught the day

with scattered thoughts

and dizzy concept of self,

and a misery so great,

tempered only by

a kind of still calm,

the calm of knowing how simple it would be

to permanently return to my dark unconciousness,

forever free of the death-like grip of torment.



The glimpse of relief I feel at this thought

is soon thrown back with full force

by a wave of pain,

almost physical,

that I can forsee,

coming from all those, who, for some reason,

would be sadened by my departure.



After this battle of the wills is over once more,

I look to the hand I once decided to grasp,

and am starteled as I realize it hasn't ever let go,

and won't ever do so,

until I decide to wean myself

and pull myself out into the light.



Even if it is only moonlight at first.