The Wish
When the day is cold
When the moon shines
Into the bedroom
Or was it the neighbor's
Porch light left on
Disturbing my thoughts
Into some crazy story
An imagination of complex
Nothing so much
The blankets are warm
Just placed a little less perfect
Around the room these things
All touched by ownership
Of false hands that seem to beg
It's the old wish returning
As if some giant screw
Is turned with elemental tools
Just wanting just needing
An ache a silent scream
Fingers rubbing the scalp
Scratching at the eyes
Unable to sleep with legs
That can't find their place
Yes the wish rides this old horse
Here are its reins
Just as a jump from the saddle
Announces by jostling it loose
Can someone please call this home
Barry G. Wick
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment