It’s 3 a.m.

And i cannot sleep

So I’m writing poetry

In my head, in my bed

That will be lost to memory

Fragments like papyrus

Scattered in the caves of my mind

To be reconstructed perhaps

Or to vanish in the storms of time

It’s 3 a.m.

And i cannot sleep

So i will build worlds

And i will tear them down

Until darkness finds me again

I see art

In the dark

And the absence

That hints at longing

And a desire

To be filled

In the craving

Of a thing deserved

Of a thing wanted

And the knowledge

Of a light somewhere else

That we would consume entirely

If we could wrap our mouths

Around it

There upon the commode he sat
Deep in thought whilst he
Considered the world about him
How the flowers were blooming
Near the place where he did sit
And all the air nearby smelled of
The good black earth and life
He could see it through the window glass
As he stood and strained to wipe his
Eyes which brimmed with tears
At the beauty of it all
Until finally he flushed
Red with anticipation
Of the day’s prospects
Feeling lighter for the effort.

Some wounds

Take longer to heal

Than other wounds

But given time

But given care

They do heal

And the mark that’s left

Reminds us

That pain can pass

It’s been a long, dark sleep

But something warm awakens

Stirring us toward newness

And a path left untrod

That wants clearing

And bright new steps

To clear the way ahead

Once more.

I am a jealous god

Hiding in the shadows

Ensuring creation accords

To my great will

Seeking the best for myself

Assuming it’s the best

For all else