Saturday, December 9, 2017

After Dark....





Bedside lamps click 
and drop a cloak 
of black across 
thoughts sundry roads
…imagination, loneliness; 
the highs and lows 
that living goads
Some touch each other; 
some turn backs 
toward the middle 
of the bed
Some lie awake 
and toss and turn; 
some sleep as soundly 
as the dead

We live in two worlds, 
one by day,
the other be
-neath dark of night
One full of color 
and the other 
charcoal-gray 
and black and white
One wears the pounding 
feet of people 
as they hasten 
to and fro
The other wears 
a world of sounds 
save in the pallid 
streetlight’s glow

 Yellow rectangles 
let in people 
when the dark 
opens a door
The world is full 
of brick-wood houses; 
homes are made 
of something more
The dark is not 
an idle gossip; 
its secrets 
few can beguile
…the mouth is not 
a fool-proof closet; 
though some think so 
for a while

Bedside lamps click 
and drop a cloak 
of black across 
the end of day
Some turn to nurse 
their curs-ed fears 
while others turn 
to God and pray
And here and there 
the dark is sparked
 with bits of talk, 
then none at all
And here and there 
the dark is marked 
with sorrow-stars 
that stilly fall

© Janet Martin

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