Thoughts From A Sleepless Night
What youthful bliss
What mindless silliness
Was it that let me see the muses
As loving mistresses
Who lead me into gardens of delight?
The rope drawn tight
That held me balanced high above the world gave way.
My injuries have healed from that first fall
But scars remain
And when I call the muses
There is pain
Of ill bent ribs within my breast.
The only rest is silence.
But silence cannot call the mistresses of night.
I purchase them with pain
And when they come
There simply are no gardens of delight.
They roam about my room,
They laugh that I should fall from such a height,
They scoff at all the childish things I own.
Then with a carelessness
Known only by the free
They brush a magic hand across my lips
And I can speak my
Then silence comes just as carelessly
And for a fleeting moment my distress
To youthful bliss
And mindless silliness.