by Gilly Wigley
I sit, music enveloping my ears. I mouth the words, and hum along to some song I put on to try to calm my restlessness. A scattered assortment of things to keep me occupied, drowns me in my bed as I try to distract my mind from you. Yet, motored limbs and fidgety digits suggests failure. Surrounded by an over abundence of incompetent distractions, my ever wandering mind crashes into a sleep far from deep. Where dreams, pureeing themselves thru every crevis of my brain, toy with the idea that once every inch is engulfed in such whimsy, maybe it would then morph into reality.
Alas, morning breaks. The ping in my inner being frantically grasps to hold onto anything of possible importance. Why? I could not tell you. For holding on never sooths the restlessness within. Maybe it's the thought of loosing something procured with such effort, not wanting time spent to go to waste. Though in the end, all is better left forgotton.
Posted on 12/18/2012
Copyright © 2019 Gilly Wigley
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Charlie Morgan on 12/18/12 at 11:58 PM|
...i answer: thanks for writing, me...i am someone who is older but much like you...the letter was stamped Someone, scratched out and occupant written...we are a tabula rasa each day, week, month year and lifetime...there is no stopping the restlessness, it goes and goes as all mysteries do. cool write.