Get Your Premium Membership

The Sleepers Mask

In the meadow, of the fields of life burning ripe with ire, I lay. Falling into a nagging sleep away from all the begging flowers. Aloof into the night, with blindfolds to help me rest peacefully. I Am above the wounds watching. Ill from all the pain that flows, like the ocean deep. On my way through the crystal forest smoke. Yes, I am blind. Yes, I enjoy it. I sift through the mesh in separate little grains, lying peaceful in the meadow of the fields of life. All the leavings weave passed. Paranoid they might start to grab. Quickly I measure down to speed past them and sleep deep in quiet peace. I drink down the silencing, like where the malted barley meet. I sanctify myself deep into the cask to wear the sleepers mask. When one by one the ants gather round to take from me my picnic. I sell them quick the Sevin dust to help them sleep and they grab their dollar bills to snort away the pain. Relief once more for me as I inject the art of ignorant sleep deep into my veins, peaceful sleep. An evening of infinity came to a close in one second of complete surprise. Softly a voice breathed across my eyes to persuasion. Suddenly I felt the pain of sleep. Deep wounds of salted sleep lie bottomless inside my soul like tender ripping of flesh inching its way away from each other, as quarreling lovers do. I bled out conviction like a spy who talked under the pressure of the knife. Yes, I was blind. No, I did not enjoy it. What touched me so? What soft blade plunged deep into my heart? What acid ate away the veil over my eyes? Grace! What Grace has let me live! I look and now I see the meadow of the fields of life. I see the begging flowers as for the first time. They are majestic little broken buds. I feel the wounds, sharp and lonely. The leavings permeate my nostrils deep into my senses and I sympathize with the smell. And the ants! Oh, how poor are they! I yearn to meet their every need. Yes, now I can see. The sleepers mask is removed. As I make my way through the meadows of life I move towards the tree. Along the way, I stop to help all the ones like me.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.


Book: Shattered Sighs