don’t keep me warm
in late summer
3 AM is never kind
to any insomniac
In the morning
I mix memories and dreams
like cocktails full of promise
that make living lovely
In mid-September,
half of us are changing into
beautiful colors:
crimping crimson,
edges and cleaner centers,
brown-spotted
wrinkling yellow
(not just the leaves)
I thank God for the breeze
that makes lesser-weighted things
dance as if there was more
than music to live for
Tangled sheets
Another night goes by,
Was the night even here?
Minutes jump to hours into lightyears.
Dreams turn to nightmares,
Taunting my troubles with skilled pleasure.
A cycle always repeated after a bad day
Or good.
My tangled sheets tangle my mind
Twisting the fabric of my thoughts
Trying to find the cold side where I could rest my head,
But the cold restlessness does not leave my tangled sheets.
Another hour
Another tear spent.
“Why can’t I sleep anymore?”
Without music my head is full of loud silence.
Constantly telling me that it is my fault.
My mind is like a machine,
Constantly thinking.
04:11 am.
I have tried reading, but it does not help anymore
Even worse when winter has arrived,
The cold giving you a cold.
Heck, I cannot even lie down otherwise I cannot breathe.
Always coughing.
Body aching.
Yet my sheets are still tangled,
Just like me with my responsibilities
I drape your darkened night in sheets of white,
Making you shiver under my dense flakes;
To hide your blighted roots from mortal sight,
I pour my drifting crystals in your lakes—
Your whispered warmth in return is all it takes.
The wind I fashion blows with silent chill;
I bury all your tender skin in wool.
Your fun, I shift beside the fireside’s thrill—
Warm drinks I set by your warm hands to pull,
Though I creep cold-footed, still my smile is full.
I hide the tilling of your soil beneath coldness,
And blight in the seeds of your barn I heal,
So that your planting season stands clothed in boldness—
A whispered promise I set beneath your heel,
While from the sky thick drifting flakes I steal.
My mission finished, then I give you way,
For grace in me to meet the gentle sun,
Who dries the sweat concealed in warmer day
And widens paths for open-fielded fun—
But not until my quiet work is done.
___ loves a blank sheet; He is the ultimate artist... artists love blank sheets!
Blank sheets are potential! Blank sheets are exciting! Blank sheets are brand new!
So turn one over; start a fresh! Step aside, pass ___ the paintbrush and let him paint you a Masterpiece!
I am intrigued by the letters dancing on the white sheets, forgotten on the desk,
Chapters that lead nowhere, a monotonous and tiring journey.
But what captivates my soul are the pebbles on the riverbank,
I wish to ask them where their journey through time began.
Were they pushed by rebellious waves or did they stop for rest?
Silent, they carry the secrets of the waters that caressed them through time.
I am also intrigued by the fallen leaves, guides of the changing wind,
Was their separation painful, or did they say goodbye gently?
Clouds like cotton candy float on the sky as blue as an ocean,
Will they pass by my house or bless me with their rain?
These questions weave my thoughts into a labyrinth of melancholy,
For in the simple mysteries of nature, I find magic and solace.
When night arrives, it circles 'round,
The dream once lost is newly found.
I dream of her, with tangled hair,
Her skin like spring—so smooth, so fair.
Warm, slender hands run through my hair,
A fragile form that, held, might tear.
But morning comes—its blinding light,
The dream dissolves, fades out of sight.
No sounds remain, no vision clear,
Just silence loud, and nothing near.
My mind is calm, yet chest feels weighed,
Suffocated, soft and staid.
The dream retreats with silent grace,
She had no voice, no name, no face.
A sudden warmth upon my cheek—
A ghost of touch I cannot seek.
Still I wait for night to fall,
For whispered dreams to once more call.
On this bed I lie between
The longing sheets, where she has been.
She is my secret, soft, unseen—
A heaven held in in-betweens.
Lately, my passion lies in poetry’s embrace,
Quenching my soul’s thirst in this sacred space.
The newborn’s cries inspire the lines I weave,
Leaving them behind, in their form, I believe.
My heart is torn, in tatters and frayed,
I write my verses with a shaky hand laid.
One day, this paper, with my thoughts laid bare,
Will be cast aside, as if no one would care.
I spill my thoughts onto sheets of white,
Relentlessly, my pen takes flight.
If I fail to share what’s in my mind,
Is there any use for paper left behind?
If he exists or not is not the point
It is faith that keeps us on
Words from pops, words of soul
So every Sunday is church day
But the preacher has me in knots
He assumes he exists and that's the point
My suspension of disbelief is needed most
The narratives are wise, the stories tight
But I met God and I don't think he is him
Sheets
My sheets are
emotionally attached.
Endlessly they think about
the spontaneous or
the free.
Scent of dryer vent
On the outside of the house
Is super pleasant.
This Poem is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18.
Silk sheets
Some wine
Some sex
Some cum
Some goodbye
Some guilt
Silk sheets
Some washing machine
Some dryer
Some door opening
Someone's home
Someone kissed
Someone sleeps
Some guilt
Some hope.
Under the sheets lies abundance of dreams
Tucked away safely to visit each night
Laden in comfort, so warm and aware
Waiting for just the right time to sleep tight
Under the sheets where the world can be safe
Many a monster defenseless to see
Where we have hidden, escaped from the world
Waiting for sunlight again to be free
Under the sheets lies abundance of gas
Passed in the night, held securely inside
Waiting and hoping for time to erase
Lest, you know who, will think someone has died
Many things happen while under the sheets
Some we can talk about, some we should not
Still, it’s a marvelous place to reside
Satin or flannel, whatever you’ve got!
Our bodies fit together
Like two perfect puzzle pieces
Not sure when It was I realized
You're all I want and needed
A few stands of misty moonlight
The ink on your chest is a-glow underneath
We meld together again in sheets
In the safest place I've known
I hope I get to show you
You're the man I Love the most
Darting eyes, a naked flame,
Expectations, yet unnamed,
Strewn across a bedroom floor,
In-between, red satin sheets,
Rekindled heat, yearns once more,
Excitement, reaches higher,
Static sets the night on fire.
My heart begins to sink
As my skin begins to quiver
I've been swept to the brink
By regrets flowing like a river
So what am I to think
As the cold world let's me shiver
Stains mark like ink
Where pain became a fissure
There's no one else to blame
As my blood begins to simmer
And against this waking shame
No nightmare could be so bitter
So I fold up the remains
Of a story I can't consider
My hallowed soul can't bare
What can't be washed away
Because even in deepest prayer
There's words I just can't say
So if I'll never clear the air
Then I know I just can't stay stay
The bed is wet
My heart's aflame
I cannot forget
What time erased
Memories are set
And the feelings won't drain
So I'll make a bet
Against the rain
One last cigarette
And I'll be unchained
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