Bloodshot eyes
blinking in midnight's pendulum
with darkness so bright
it pierces the scarred vision
Winds hum their songs -
and autumn's messenger
with her magical flute -
bringing silence to a close:
the bears bashed for their daily snacks;
owls hoot a melancholy tune;
bats fleet in the hunt of the night
and I ...
lay broad awake with my best pal cappuccino
Shivering hands,
relishing to night's coldness
frozen teardrops
devouring my spirit away
Grotesque voices
echoes from chambers of hell.
as if hushing me to sleep
But dance of celestial stars,
and its luminous stagecraft -
its magnificence was my reality.
French Quarter lights
still shine in their vintage glories;
Wet benches
still reside in the raining park
Shopping malls
still spray with mists of light
And I
still awake without a purpose
I glare: at my clicking laptop:
the pumping machine of work,
was my tune to insomnia.
Farewell normality.
Author notes
A tribute to the crazy 3 AM club for Geography and art history.
By the way, this is written in a messed-up sequence of resurgence which is similar to style of Plath's journal on Trafalgar Square.
This is also resemblance of our pickled brains in those late-light sessions.
Written October 28th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
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Wonderful
I agree with the above. This does perfectly paint and frame the reality of an insomniac's night life, which is the equivilant of the day for certain creatures. The language, the description and the meaning behind the words excell into brilleance that seems rare to the light of the world. Excellent poem. Thankyou for your comments
I really do appreciate it alot.
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this is one hell of a piece...a very acurate portrait of nocturnal life...the life of those who cant just go to sleep...my life...
great one !
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