A Psalm for Sleep
sometimes the shape of your frame|
lights up across the room,
in the dark,
and it's obvious you're not there.
maybe it's the shape of the words,
i've read for so long -
the litany of our wholly different,
but entwining and undeniably paralleled,
little, fading stars that are our lives.
i worry all too often.
i regret one hundred fold more.
and i sit in the dark,
singing the same few lines over and over,
reciting the same few verses from poems,
thinking of a time that seemed darker than this,
but was in all reality,
not very high at all and turned out not to be a needle-
just a change of direction,
and a prick that didn't draw blood.
it was a time when i knew who we were,
then a time when i wished what we were,
now a time when i wonder what we will be.
maybe we're the chosen generation,
that chose not to listen,
and i can't help but wonder,
every time we speak,
if this is our swan song.
or maybe we are that song -
a secret, little, softly spoken one,
sang like it was to a baby,
that needed sweet sleep.
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