Secret Slumber

May sound keep us alive in a night prevailing with forethought

In a sliver of an outcome

Where all things determined by a thread of hope

For causeway knows none

Poor crease on a shoulder from sleeping in the rough

No tears of shame

None to drink the skies by

Only silver threads to reach golden dreams

Men that turn tables on themselves

Pitch the roof for forefront of their own marbles

That circle only egos

To which throw cans at

But bow anyway

Even lucifer had his day

And for now creatures toil in rubble

Suit yourself Suit

Matador my friend be not the person cramped, be aware

No mission ever sauntered a street alone

Where possible the conduct is only the feather

In secret slumber

*

This poem is about laying down to sleep listening to the music and the rain and thinking ahead and wondering about a man, and men who made mistakes and then try for understanding. Who is evil, who is a hero, then, does it matter because I am going to sleep anyway.

Copyright © 2023 Lisa A Lachapelle. All rights reserved.

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