the raconteur

Photo by Rafael Guajardo on Pexels.com
Raining feathers
misty light
the sound 
of a waterfall
nursing me
into sleep

Vigilant feelings
bleeding into
free-wheeling
thoughts,
a window about 
to swing open—
one I didn’t want to
see through

The widowed tales
of nighttime 
dreams,
the ones I tried 
to tell by heart—
with the worldly
decorum 
of the 
raconteur

Raining feathers
misty light
the sound 
of a waterfall
nursing me
into sleep

grey verse

Photo by Jot on Pexels.com
one day
you wake up
all ached 
and word-
s l u m b e r ed

still yawning—
yet realising
you couldn’t live 
without living 
v e r s e

you should’ve fixed
that purple
alarm clock by
your bedside 
t a b l e

when there was still
time to save those
stanzas from 
the literary 
b l a z e

poor Poetry—
the one
 you forever
took for
g r a n t e d

won’t you
wake up
before it all
burns down to
a s h e s ?

hopefully
not too late—
a lyrical 
wake-up call
from your poetic
d a z e

A l l  p o e t r y .  .  .
    .  .  . N o  p o e t r y
g   r    e     y    
 p    o    e    t   r    y

h o p e f u l l y 
y o u ’l l 
  w a k e   u p
l     y    r    i    c    a   l    l      y
       f        r        e        s        h
T          o          d          a          y