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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Experience · #1095132
Spending the night away from home, in my old bed, brings forgotten faces in focus.
Restless Midnight


Shooting stars fly
Across the night sky,
Comets come crashing,
Boulders bashing.

I lie in the bed
That supported the child,
Now grown into a woman
With tears on her pillow.

Tender music, called
"Easy Listening",
Instrumentally fills
My ears with memories.

"There were bells
On a hill, but I never
Heard them ringing.
No, I never heard them at all
Till there was you".

I know all the words.
Faces of those gone ahead,
Some call them long dead,
Family and lovers passed.

Mom sleeps in her chair.
Her audio lullaby comfort
Makes me old, graying.
I shut my eyes tight.

Instead of sleep
I see smiling faces,
Almost forgotten
With the passage of life.

It's not loss of youth.
It's not loss of faith.
It's the feeling of love
That wraps you in physical arms.

Sheets become hot.
Then I become cold.
The music plays on
While Mother sleeps.


© Copyright 2006 a Sunflower in Texas (patrice at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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