Michael Walkerjohn | + Follow Poet |
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Disillusions Dreams

In these long nights
 I welcome sleep, yet I am
 deprived of dreaming’s please, hindered
 by hot thoughts and lack of comfort
 strong drink and companionship; this eludes me
 crystal goblets stained with palm prints
 stand alone and empty around my easy chair
 these relics are etched with a monogram
 that cries out to eves of glory’s past
 but unlike my pillows stained with sorrow’s tears
 these can be cleaned and polished by the maid
 in those moments, while dusk wanes and
 I drift towards twilight’s throes my thought’s solace
 should be under the stars and hunters moon
 that accompanies my wounded soul’s remind
 when in sleight of hand or upon slight
 of imagination, sorrow’s deep stirs
 emotion to release its rich and mysterious scent
 what dares to stand and stop a good night’s sleep
 to shear and rut those sheep without consent
 and alter an uneventful count of odd and even numbers
 races does the heart as one’s mind beats like thunder
 why in the shadows does one ponder wonder? 
 and wallow alone in the darkness while wrestling
 with body and mind to simply and seemingly fade away
 and in the dimming ends of daylight a weakness comes
 as I return to the slave I am, of empty nights
 wrapped up in clean sheets; a sad and solitary figure 
 Oh! how the night escapes me and flees
 to a perfection’s stranger portion of quieting slumber
 would this so be a sinister celebration an
 equivalent of a full day’s hours or, the Elohim Zavaoth
 cum El hai / Shaddai; those multitudes so to be seen
 in the morning’s glory with rested eyes and a mind’s
 ration of sleep laid out like gold from a faraway
 wealthy Kingdom, laying beyond the reach of poverty
 and famine parched lips, burned and blistered souls and
 spirits lacking Heaven’s soothe and God’s treasure
 of the bliss in an innocent’s night’s sleep.

Copyright © Michael Walkerjohn | Year Posted 2014

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