Dedan

Submitted by Mo on September 17, 2007 - 20:49.

Some nights my mind swells with temptation
to creak open the closet door.
Ideas, fed through a thick libation,
of madness spill upon the floor;
on settled dust and rotted timber
the ghost of love does thaw and limber
and wake once more a shrieking sound
that goads my frozen blood to pound.
These ghastly dreams cause such a racket,
I place my pillow on my head
and pray I make no sound, instead
the bastards enter with a jacket
and throttle me until I weep,
then needle me until I sleep.

 

login to post comments
( categories: Poetry | Mo Berry )