Below is what I hope will be the first in a return to writing poetry for me. Enjoy.
The deadness of bedtime, by Shawn South
There is a dead space
between day and sleep.
It watches. Quiet, waiting.
Mocking.
The thoughts press forward,
clamoring,
like a thirsty mob left too long on an asphalt plain.
Jostling, straining.
I don’t dare let them go.
That stare…. Time will pounce.
A dream released now is a wish cut short,
left rotting in the setting sun.
Tears plead – beg -
but I dare not.
They deserve more.
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