| | Back and no better than before.If I can't sleep, at least I can't stop writing. It amuses me, in a sense, that Plath wrote tons before she stuffed her head in an oven. I have no oven and none of her brilliance. I would buy an oven, but I doubt it comes with a free bottle of Genius.
This Is Night
This is night -
the time when doors close
and the weeping is no longer heard;
the space that lurks
between the corridors of daylight.
This is night -
the time a child walks halfway across the world
and no one will notice the empty bedsheets,
if he comes back before the morning sun.
This is night -
the space the devils use to bargain for souls.
A marketplace where goods are not seen,
the prices as low as a moment of vice.
This is night -
a time when you are finally yourself but noone sees you.
A time when you muse and ponder
the missed chances of the day before.
The space where whispered warnings
echo in your head.
This is night.
The time when dreams and nightmares,
bruised and battered from the harshness of day,
rise recharged.
This is night. |
| | Posted 6/6/2008 1:10 AM - 5 views - 0 comments
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