What Sleep Is This
WHAT SLEEP IS THIS ?
He sleeps and wakes and sleeps and dreams
the sweet-water drink; another traveler
on the road where street-dogs paint graffiti
phrase-art and illusion is master. Along the way
he spies a beautiful young woman with
smoky eyes and lips rare as first light
and hair the colour of wheat blowing
in the wind. He is mesmerized by her glow,
her aura, so sharp and yet diffuse;
the mind-trap of beauty and seduction.
When their souls touch it is like two stars
colliding endlessly for the first time
and their fires mingle like voices in a choir
angelic. He is both lost and found,
ecstatic and bleeding. A shroud of light
engulfs them and they dance…
What sleep is this that grips so tightly?
A crisp lucidity melts his core, a fusion
like night to day. Who knows the end of one?
The eyes of the Father peer just behind
the horizon and much too soon morning
stamps her feet, he opens his eyes truly
for the first time…everything disappears
and he waits, safe in the knowledge
that she exists, for his dream-girl to return
to the roadway and his heart.
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.
