Lying In Bed
Tap, tap, tap on my window, pat, pat, pat falls the rain.
Subdued light filters through the smooth fabric of the curtains.
Low rumbling of distant thunder soothes my brain.
Outside I spy the night garden, the moon flowers beckoning,
the rain's tear drops gently drip from their pink and white petals.
The crimson bougainvillea hugs tightly to the arbors where they cling.
Softly the glow of the moon peeks through wisps of dreams wafting slowly by
casting sanguine shadows, specters of my cloudy thoughts,
the dilemma of the darkness inside of me, the hidden pain I cry.
Lying in bed, thinking, never a good thing to do.
The night seems so endless, so eternally lonely,
lost in my senses, eyes closed and weary, my thoughts turn to you.
What happened, who can say, all that matters is you are not here.
No anger, nothing, like a ghost in the mist you just disappeared,
without a word, without a goodbye, without so much as a tear.
It's been so long since we've spoken, the image of your face slowly fading.
Only your essence remains, your emerald green eyes, the curve of your neck,
your gentle touch, memories of you over time slowly degrading.
Yet, at night, thoughts of you still linger, you seem so distant, so foreign,
but dawn breaks the dark and the garden rests, as do I in a hazy slumber.
Through the fog I see myself picking a flower, a Fairy Iris, for Lauren.
09/02/15
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