Dream Less Nights
Sealed in white cotton
Bathed in SSRIs
My nights have forgotten dream.
Notebooks stand at the ready each morning,
Uselessly covered in dust.
Once I filled them remorselessly
With remains of the strange woman,
The snake-haired temptress,
The ashen guardians walking in shadows.
Now, I know only that memories
Fail me each dawn.
Each day, each night
I wait, anticipating irruption.
Each morning I wake to just routine,
just chores, just the next piece of reason.
Will the night play dead until I die?
Will the guests of my buried soul
Escape their early grave?
Am I condemned to an artless list?
No. No. And no again.
This blank page
Demands writing.
A rite of sacrifice must begin -
So from this death
Dream spring again.
Copyright © Jeff Rich | Year Posted 2011
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