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The slow rotating sealing fan caresses,
Mosquito's pitch around my head stresses.
The thirst of sleep in early hours and no fill,
wailing and wander in quite without still.
Feeling stiff and veins that tingle,
candlelight shadows that jump and mingle.
Imagination at the edge of scare,
creating half shadows to the madness fare.
Thinking of spirits that steal from the tired,
in slothful chains not being inspired.
The milk of insomnia by body rejected,
vitamin C, B, D with headaches unaffected.
Memories of other days as monotone ache,
waking sense or dreaming soul awake.
Discern of how to turn those spirits to abate?
rendered attitude, with being more compassionate.
To understand oneself to become more pure,
when tempered more and more to endure.
Writing pondering rhymes as mental rest,
maybe some other soul takes it as well for the best.
The morning in slow awake and night concealed,
the way to open the mental door revealed.
Saturday, March 13, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: spirituality

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4/15/2021 5:42:15 AM #