Musings by The Poet Loriet
Dream States
The persistent tick-tock
of our antique clock
reverberates inside my head
with each telltale beat--
annoying like a three-year-old
making continuous clicking noises
with a metronomic tongue.
Lying in a starkly silent room,
I remain wide awake,
trapped within
the infomercial hour.
Ghosts of children's laughter
echo down the hall,
stopping short
of bedsides
where still bodies
sleep peacefully.
My own body
resists this peace.
I prefer to dream
with open eyes--
daydream
wishes within
my control,
allowing escape
from daily
worries--
the poet
inside
prevails.
Peace allows me
thinking time.
I just wish the silence
weren't so
unbearably
loud.
Lori Beal
of our antique clock
reverberates inside my head
with each telltale beat--
annoying like a three-year-old
making continuous clicking noises
with a metronomic tongue.
Lying in a starkly silent room,
I remain wide awake,
trapped within
the infomercial hour.
Ghosts of children's laughter
echo down the hall,
stopping short
of bedsides
where still bodies
sleep peacefully.
My own body
resists this peace.
I prefer to dream
with open eyes--
daydream
wishes within
my control,
allowing escape
from daily
worries--
the poet
inside
prevails.
Peace allows me
thinking time.
I just wish the silence
weren't so
unbearably
loud.
Lori Beal
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Dream States
Dream States
