A creak, a sound,
coughing ripples through the crack.
A sight, a mound,
dust quietly collects, it has a knack.
Stark-faced, lines of anguish and regret run parallel in the looking glass,
discounted day pleasures have left their mark on this resolute lass.
At the foot of the bed lie the war-torn clothes,
the nightmare blasts, my heart implodes.
Spattered with grief, sulfuric scent,
the life of the rags have well been spent.
Throbbing, the heart-rate climbs.
Riddled with holes, the effort to stand dies.
The will calls out, the plague in the shadows waiting to chastise.
Damp threads, beads of heat and terror adorn my neck,
the nightmare's jewels displayed, leaving but a wreck.
Moonlit pearls, silken sheet like a sand storm swirls,
muscles tighten, short strand on the temple curls.
Bedside table loaded, dreams come in droves,
rushing out of lonesome coves.
Active, exhilarating, gasping in relief,
reality flies in on a wind-blown leaf.
Another season come and gone
Where has the great Light shone?
