Night Time
Insomnia.
I get up, put on coat
and sit outside in the cool air.
Cloudless night. History hangs overhead
in full stops glowing in an infinite dark.
No wind overwrites the quiet.
There is only the chatter
of my own mind traced in scribbles
across unfolding time. Occasionally
a face forms, lingers then dissolves
into a residue of feelings left
in a forgotten corner of my life.
All is shadow, misted hauntings
in empty rooms.
I reach out for something firm
to hold onto and feel only
my own weight pushed
into the chair. Then, as if breaking
loose, a sudden rush of recognition -
there are people
who love me.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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