Dreamer
And I'll continue dreaming on looking at the city lights burning bright even when the night sky is filled with no stars.
Poems on the topic: night
Poems on the topic “night” on Poets.by.
365 days to love, and i shall give you all of my days
i only have 365 days left to love,
the doctor wailed; a year to give
away the battered expanse of a
soul who knows the end of their
span, the grim reaper looms, there
is no time to loan another's heart
for a half hearted sense of fulfilment
in search of life's meaning. i am about
to die, and yet the only person id ever
want to hold my still body is you,
who has weathered my storms and
watered my gardens, i was the hearth
and you were the blazing fire, i was the
moon and the stars and you were a brilliant
night sky, endlessly timeless and eternal,
your love was, and therefore i shall love you
illusion
i dream of you at night,
a ghost of your fingertips
tracing my back hesitantly,
as i imagine your warmth
enveloping me, flowing deep
into me as i melt into your embrace.
i feel your face bury into the crook
of my neck; red hot lust emanating
through your quickened breath,
one i can conjure, one that i know.
i dream of you pressing deep into
me, reaching, grasping at the confines
of my heart, digits lovingly knocking at the
doors of my soul as you engulf me in your
love, filling me up as i blossom in your arms,
the gaping, wide hole in me filled in a flash;
what i love about loving you, with love
i write this with an inexperienced hand,
one not yet rough with the calluses of
another whose seen nirvana with their
own eyes, one not scarred with the
hurts of a dozen lost others, seared with
the burning flames of life's never-ending
pains; but one, smooth as silk, a fresh
cloth to be marked and used, before i peak
into my unique beauty.
i write with pure ignorance, words of advice
forced into these ears, meaning well, of things
ive never understood, of foreign lands and the
sad tales of sailors who were lost to the sirens
prowling the dark waters, looking for fish, but
only to be devoured in a pathetic leap of faith.
dangling my legs above infested waters, i wonder
Sleepless Nights
I tire of the dreams,
The restless nights,
The tormenting sights,
And the fears that come with.
I see my family die night after night,
My friends shocked faces,
Frozen in fright.
I feel myself perish,
At the hands of everyone I know,
I die again and again,
And I just want it to end.
The cycle continues endlessly,
Scenarios playing in my own head.
All I ask for is salvation,
Maybe then they'll go away.
sleep
I am always the one
To argue
About never getting sleep
Pill after pill
And I find myself
Wide awake
But at this point
I don't want to sleep.
Cheltenham Elegy #524
When he drives around Elkins Park in
the dead of night, he thinks, this is how
I like the human race— asleep. When three roads
fork at Myers, he goes down Mill Road.
By the time the car climbs Harrison Ave,
he has the thought that the sleeping human
race is the holy one. He pushes past the old
derelict high school on High School Rd, wonders
if its still haunted. It flashes on him: the day
he broke in, smack in the middle of the Nineties,
with buddies now long dead. He found a hammer,
stole it, never used it— it sat in his closet
until after graduation. He was smashed then, too.
Cold Night
cold night
the pale glow of headstones
behind the fence
Locked Out
When we locked up the house at night,
We always locked the flowers outside
And cut them off from window light.
The time I dreamed the door was tried
And brushed with buttons upon sleeves,
The flowers were out there with the thieves.
Yet nobody molested them!
We did find one nasturtium
Upon the steps with bitten stem.
I may have been to blame for that:
I always thought it must have been
Some flower I played with as I sat
At dusk to watch the moon down early.
An Old Man's Winter Night
All out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering the need
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him--at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off;--and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
Ghost House
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
Canis Major
The great Overdog,
That heavenly beast
With a star in one eye,
Gives a leap in the east.
He dances upright
All the way to the west
And never once drops
On his forefeet to rest.
I’m a poor underdog,
But tonight I will bark
With the great Overdog
That romps through the dark.
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