Migrant thoughts
wander aimlessly
through night minds
seeing clearly through
the dark of sleep
dulcid sounds of breath
inescapable clam
for others
juxtaposed with the restlessness
which craves my company
vanish tired eyes
awaken
torment
teeming disbelief
absent crescendo
wonder why?
how?
not where the map
promised to end
alone in a bed
with three.
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1 comment:
It's got a nice rhythm and musicality. Thanks.
Greetings from London.
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