The Night Is Young
In the night when I can not sleep,
when I dream about dreaming
when even God is sleeping
and the devil is out looking
for lost souls.
I think about silly things,
I think about the baker
who just woke up, his
poor wife, leaving a
warm bed for a warm
oven, the small old
security man counting
every minute regretting
ever being born.
The garbage man
desperately thinking
of how to find a woman.
All these poor men
who are not allowed to
sleep.
I slowly smoke my
cigarette illuminating
the city with every drag.
I dedicate every puff to
all these lost souls.
The night is young
the stars are out dancing
accompanied by the
moon, like an old
wedding orchestra
and their seasoned
company, they know each step,
each rhytm.
And I am alone with my pillow
thinking of all the beautiful women
somewhere, somewhere far away.
In Paris, Buenos Aires, Beijing
New york Addis Ababa and even Beirut.
What are they doing what
are they thinking??'
God is asleep the devil
is out working, my question
is blowing in the wind..
I dream a little dream of them
and hope they dream a little
dream of me.
Because in lala land
everything is possible.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
