Sleep

The Daily Post prompt is: blank.

Photo©Staffan Ström

1024px-Blandat_001

When the night is too loud and crowded,

and the air will not be still,

when the heat will not subside or the cold ease,

and even the cats fight among the chimney stacks,

I try to recall the emptiness of some other time that perhaps I knew,

when the world was a blank canvas, an empty screen,

and the humming and shrilling of other people’s problems

did not impinge on the gentle, rolling space inside my head.

Sleep, a river or an ocean, waveless and limpid,

laps behind some wall or cliff, all dark ripples and fizzing foam,

if only I could find it.

If only I could find it,

I would dive, as graceful as a gannet,

and skim the green depths, otter-like,

and forget.

Waking

Sleep brings dark oblivion
The curtain falls on cares too hard to bear.
But morning always comes too soon
scattering the shadows in the east,
and ripples break the still night pools
with glittering spears of unwelcome light.
Though the pain returns,
The dull ache in the heart,
The blush of pink deepens on the rose
And dew hangs trembling on the leaf.
The sun will rise behind the bank of cloud
And the blackbird’s song is just as sweet.

1024px-Fugle,_ørnsø_065