a dog-eared copy of a Kesey novel

my pipe still warm from drifting smoke

it’s need for the night no more

as it rests in the ash tray

next to the empty cup with its tea bag

that will sit staining till morning

while frequent yawns persist

and yet the day refuses to end here

sadly, it never does

for there are thoughts unfinished

of life, of love, of whys and why not

questions left better to others

that roll around in my sleepless mind

keeping me wondering till dawn

if any of this is real

or just some tragic jest not yet fully played out

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saiom's picture

  your words are a magic


your words are a magic carpet    I wish you peaceful sleep every night



Wordman's picture

Thank you for the kind

Thank you for the kind comment, and the grand wish.