Kendell Cochrane

Unknown2

Sometimes
I fall to sleep,
Ear pressed against the hardwood
Or charactered tile,
cold yet
strangely comforting,
As a torn open wrapper
holds my hand,
Its contents,
Secret ingredients for a
Rumbled lullaby,
Understood by my soul,
However,
Unaccepted by my mind.

Foolishly hoping to be
Woken by heavy,
Unnatural footsteps,
To the sight of crumbs
Bouncing off the ground,
Like sand particles on
A symphony drum,
Struck with provoked passion

Sock tips gently rubbing,
As the floor breathes with me,
I watched it pass by,
The broken arm of
Offwhite blinds
Made me witness to
Yet another close call
towards a wondrous oblivion.

Topic(s) of this poem: imagination, tired

Poem Submitted: Thursday, February 16, 2017
Poem Edited: Friday, February 17, 2017

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