Darkness leans in to kiss closed eyelids
weary from watching the world
and seeing nothing there.
One day drags relentlessly
until its monochrome existence
has us begging for an end.
Ah, to slip into a blissful absence of thought,
flitting dreams of melting clocks
in technicolor.
Slumber, the ultimate illusion
of the inevitable conclusion
to a life that has no reason anymore.
The perfect resemblance to a corpse
is interrupted by the gentle rise and fall
of a troubled chest.
Comments
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This is beautiful, the opening line is just perfection and the last stanza is how I've always viewed sleep. Amazing write.
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