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To Sleep
by Matthew ZangenThe right time
hangs on
the throat
like a pulse,
wheezing whimpers
between us, bleeding
sleep on weeping
stomachs, starved and shaking
fingers pleading hair
to a better place,
where we wonder
where we've been,
wandering in worship
of familiar sounds,
broken and gifted,
taken, like a pulse
from our throats,
hanging on
the right time
for a whimpered while
longer,
please. 09/26/2018 Posted on 09/26/2018
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Zangen
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 10/08/18 at 03:34 PM "wandering in worship /of familiar sounds" I once heard that we tend to silently repeat the same words and phrases over and over to ourselves. I've been doing that this morning, waking with the lines from a song I heard on the radio and at church. With your lines (above) I think you have put your fingers on a common human pattern. Thanks for sharing, Matthew. |
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