Quarter to Twelve
Silently my mind drifts,
only god knows,
I thought I heard a knocking,
then a whisper,
but was too sleepy to answer.
I wander through the busy towns,
viewing man’s midnight secret.
magnificent, gliding with the night,
when your eyes are closed.
Suddenly a knock on the door,
pulling me breathlessly from my cotton quilt,
my neighbor I supposed lost her keys,
hammering loudly, the echoing sounds woke everyone.
The confusion of the night hunts my soul,
I traveled back and forth over this land,
finding dark troubles struggling in my hands.
Exhausted by its power I tried to sleep,
but the night crept slowly away from me.
I slipped into a shallow slumber.
Again my eyes open slowly with the door,
a ghost must have entered,
I am sure,
No, it was my roommate returning from her nightly chores.
She slammed the door inflicting more pain to my sleepless soul.
Sleep is such a gentle thing,
but it is so hard for me.
I could hear every laughter and chatter of the construction men
working in the gutter.
I twist and turn in the bed,
but could not find a comfortable place for my head
as I pulled the cover over my face,
the alarm clock rings.
©2013 Christine Phillips