This time is almost spiritual;
As if there is a part of my soul
That only wakes when I’m asleep.

It always felt like this when
The gently yellowing streetlights
Threw handful upon handful of glitter
Across the newly frosted pavements
As I walked, furtive and shivering, from
Disappointment to disillusionment.

It awakes with the night sky,
As distant yet present wind
Plays games with the joyful clouds.

This is how it was for so many
Misspent nights in too many
Dreadful years; perhaps that is why
The masochist in me seems to be
Longing for those long gone days.

There is no more furtive scribbling
By lamplight as my eyelids
Begin their inexorable descent:
Somehow, I am sitting at a table,
A ticking clock and a humming fridge
For company, and I feel as though
I could do this all night.

Perhaps I am less exhausted than
I thought. Perhaps there are
Yet more reserves within me
That will propel me through the wall
And on, on towards the still distant
Finishing line.

Whatever life has thrown at me,
I have been able to catch and juggle;
To assimilate into my greater being
As I astound myself with what
I can cope with.

Someday, surviving will no longer
Be sufficient to survive; but
That day is still far away,
Somewhere towards the red shift,
Beyond the reddening eastern sky.

03/04/2015

Posted on 03/17/2015
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