Monday, May 6, 2013

Nighttime Poetry

Embers' Light

Here we whisper through the night,

faces hid by screens alight.


The enemies are time and space

when all you want a voice, a face;

The form behind the written words

that fly these thoughts like wings of birds.

Yet here we sit 'round embers' heat,

because light is light and its warmth

still sweet.

An Empty Spot by Your Side

A man lies in bed
in the middle of the night,
Windows open wide
and sheets drawn tight.

His bed is littered
with things that he owns,
As he tries to forget
that he’s all alone.

When she drifts in,

that cool spring breeze,
Running her fingers down his spine
and the backs of his knees.

“Sleeping once again
adrift and alone?”
Asks the voice of the breeze
through the creaks of the home.

“All the stories on your shelves
and your house full of things,
can't save you from a night by yourself
on that old box spring?”

She laughed when said this
Which raised the bumps on his skin
 and he wrapped his blankets tighter,
tried to keep out chagrin.

She ran her fingers gently
through his hair as she spoke,
“Would anyone even notice
If you never woke?”

“and if they did,
Would they care?”
Cooed the breeze on the bed
Over the sound of his prayers,

That wished for nothing more
than for a warm hand to hold:
To comfort and console
And to stave of the cold.

But only the ice in her words
Filled the empty spot by his side,
though he tried to tune it out,
though he tried not to cry.

Yet still she came every night
to make sure the thought was sewn,

That he was alone.
So alone
in his big dark home.