Voices In the Night
They wake me sometimes.
Names, nonentities
come out of the corners like leftover pipe smoke,
jerking at my slumber,
scratching at the soft circles
I draw around my head.
Spirits, pardon me;
I am a dense dreamer!
Transfer of consciousness slows down
when aging dashes on.
Inner sound and psychic sense
don't mingle very well.
Yet they persist;
their whispers inarticulate, seductive
for my mind, surreal--
breaking up my memories in fragments,
bringing recollection only in a later dream,
then never with a reason why.
And I may reason why,
convoke these shades
just as I cry to you
that I, too, reach with hollow hands
across the bridge of consciousness
until I die,
and travel on the edge of time.
I think that they are teaching me--
these voices. Systematically
in silent, restless throbbing they prepare me,
their own strength gaining as mine wanes.
I think they watch, like tower control
upon the homing planes.
I think they know
to what stupendous realm I go.
~
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.
