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
