Between the dusk of dreams and morning’s light
I cling to Dreamland’s shreds.
The friendly warmth of my sheets
Dispells my self-discipline.
The curve of my pillow beckons my head
Back to the shadows of sleep.
Drooping eyelids cloud my vision.
I must get up.
I fling myself from my bed
With resolve I do not feel.
I rub my eyes as Dreamland releases it’s hold on me.
Time for another day.

Please tell me what you think.

I recall all too well the burning questions, that some call romatic desires, of young love. Young, not in terms of the person, but young in terms of the relationship, which is infused in your words. How rich it is!

With time and continued love, these questions are answered, and the burning questions become more mundane, like realizing that you forgot something because the routine is changed, or the hoping he (she) did not forget something because the routine has changed. This wondering even disappears, and continued time reveals that he/she WILL forget something, and you know exactly what it is. This is when a kind hearted lover takes gentle steps to help the soulmate along the way, even while absent. How much righer now?

These thoughts got me writing…

Picture Paintings

In a flash,
you are captured,
Every bit of you ensnared.

From then on
you enhance the view
ever changing ever growing.

The artist within
using actions and words
will paint the picture love.

Puppy love:
Innocent! Cute!
A dabbling in water colors.

Young love:
Romantic! Elegant!
A black and white charcoal sketch.

Committed love:
A work in progress.
The sketch with paint strewn about.

Ancient love:
Beauty! A work of art!
An oil portrait in a guilded frame.

In a flash,
I was captured.
Every bit of me ensnared.

I am now
neck deep in paint.
Please, come back in twenty years.

In utter darkness
With complete blankness
I reach out my hands
To the empty space
Where you should be

I open my eyes
Consciousness returns
I glance at the clock
And I remembered
That you were a continent away

Lights flick on
I sit up in our bed
Looking at the empty space
I wonder what you are doing
Away from me

Dragging my sluggish self
I start my morning routine
Making two sets of breakfast
By sheer force of habit
For you and me

In front of the shoes rack
I glance at your missing shoes
And I wonder if you knew
How much I hate
Having you away

And I wonder
If you missed
Waking up
Without me

Do you?

All Because of That Alarm Clock

Ring!
There it goes again
that alarm clock
invention of the devil

Eight?
Oh no, I’m late:
(throw everything in my bag)
time to run like mad!

Crack!
Really, now, God
must you do this to me?
Rain, thunder – just for being late?

What?
Why’s the gate closed?
shouldn’t it be open?
but… wait a moment!

Oh!
I see it now
that’s why it’s closed:
it’s SATURDAY!

Here is my dream poem for this prompt. Just for fun – and because I’ve been wanting to play with this form – I made each verse a shadorma.

Recurrence

The old dream
Startles me awake.
So often
In childhood …
But why does it return now,
The dream of falling?

Falling deep
between rocky walls,
a chasm.
Too slowly.
And faces leering at me –
Distorted faces.

Was it Hell
that awaited me
far down there?
A child’s Hell
Of fairy-tales – Grimm horrors –
And my inner dark.

I can’t know.
I never landed;
Kept floating
Down and down.
What demons now reclaim me –
Now that I am old?

Waking Early

Ah, the light is music
The world new alive
Golden through the edges of the curtains.
I am awake at once.

The cats recline on the bed.
He, black panther, waits.
She, grey puma, mews for their food
Low and plaintive.

Outside, my wind-chimes
Peal and reverberate
Reminding me of a long continuum
Of Spring mornings.

The heart leaps now
Just as it always has
Alive, alive, alive – and glad to live
Glad to be awake

On a Spring morning
With cats to feed
And the man in the bed waiting
For me as the sun rises.