Oblivion

Stir...
Shed sleep's slumber.

Eyes open
To a bedroom -
The same bedroom
That unfailingly
And familiarly
Greets the gaze
Every morning.

Eyes open
To a bedroom -
Familiar...
Yet foreign from
The realm
Recently relinquished
Of dream's fantasies
And black oblivion
In time unmeasured.

Look into the familiar-
The real.

The darkness has departed -
Sent away by sunlight
Filtering around cracks
At the window shade ends
And through
The covering curtains
Of maroon material.

Twist slightly
To see the clock
Beyond the bed.

Numbers - 6:33 -
Red and large
For ailing eyesight.

Too early
For a man retired
From the responsibilities
Of reporting to others.

A man retired
From the responsibilities
Of reporting to others -
But not retired
From responsibilities
Of reporting
To his passions
To pursue a posterity
For his Ego.

Stall...
Seek again that slumber
That so sweetly secures
From the wraths and ravages
That are the wagers made
For the possible
Perfidious plunder
Of pleasures from life.

Haunting messages
From deep within
Harangue and howl
About all
There is to do.
Sounds so strong
That surrender
To sweet slumber
Cannot be secured.

Stall sleepless
Enduring
Harangues...
Howls...
Hounding guilt...
As long as possible.

Reluctantly...
Remove the covers
And sheet
Exposing bare flesh
To cool air.

Slip from the bed.
Listen to water -
Warm -
Moving in the mattress.
Water ...
That had given
Soft compliant comfort.

Look at the bed -
Crumpled blankets.
Not made up
In week or two.
Pillows askew -
Distorted.

A bed?
Or a womb?

Look longingly
At that womb -
And wish...
For it's warmth
And armor against
Reality.

Wish to return.
 

The End