scribbles
He felt like sneezing;
laughing to himself;
or remaining silent
Helplessly searching
for drowsy stories
to put into words
"Finish that page!"
the choir
- w h i l e
h e h u m m e d
a h o p e f u l
t u n e -
kept chanting
And then,
just like that,
he departed
Thankful for the life
he’d lived
loved
l
e
f
t
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
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
LannaZee 