When Sleep is Foreign

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There is a more to me than simply my spoken words

more than the rhymes that spill and spin onto a page…

… there is more to me than what you see;

 

Thoughts run deep in those hours when sleep is foreign

and minutes tick deafeningly into the seething silence…

… contemplations race helter skelter into chaos

night breathes heavy in the echo between unheard sighs

where remnants of wistful melancholy breed moments of desolation …

 

Is this life

these days that stretch and tumble and drag into yesterdays lived

but not breathed, as one might breathe in the very essence of communion –

lived, without soul connection and spiritual union, the synergy of

souls joined, connected through mutual understanding of love

and what love is…

 

Reality stares out from a two faced mirror, trading looks with destiny

and caught between the two… I hold together what’s left of me

for there is a more to me than simply my spoken words

more than the rhymes that spill and spin onto a page…

 

… somewhere a heart beats in time with mine

I hear the steady pulse in the echo of my soul

the sweet rhythm of their breathing

rocks me to sleep at night

and if it is meant to be, that we never find each other in this life

perhaps… perhaps we will come together

 

– in our next.

*

Poetry & Art SharonleeGoodhand©

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