Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

2 poemsofchildhood00fiel_0225

Deep Sleep

by Gregory N

Sleep, deep, not a peep
a fellow, on a pillow, does lie
awoken, too long, his sleep does prolong
till next dawn at peace, at least.

Away, afar, in a place, a face
a love, long lost, does stir
he speaks, and seeks, to her heart
till again, as a man, can be hers.

In spaces, small memories, surprise
flash, crash, over the mind
indigo, violet, crimson in his head
till the sun wakes him up, aware.


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