I can’t sleep. Here’s a poem to pass the time.
The night’s voice
Eerie does it speak,
Screaming volumes of solitude,
As anger and frustration seep from my thoughts and echo silently the dawn’s air.
The drunken hoot,
A territorial howl,
My enemies in the dark deathly glare.
A girl’s wail of passion,
A waving echo of a pistol,
The useless sinful desire to crush those who undermine me.
The tired engine drawling,
A ghostly shake of the door,
I pray for my frustrated mind to let me be.
The blurred neon lamps,
That once made the evening loud,
I want to embrace its lonely light.
A calming breeze,
A sleeping balm,
Please carry me in tomorrow’s fight.