It’s early morning and no one stirs,
Save the owl outside my window.
Sleep doesn’t come these nights of thought.
Wish I could slumber and leave them behind.
Wish I could not remember things that keep me from sleeping.
Why won’t these demons of the night let go of me…
Isn’t my regretting enough payment for mistakes?
Will there ever be any peace for this aged man?
Middle of the night, I sit and type; endless words on paper.
Where do they coming from, these thoughts I have?
Why me?
Why am I the paint brush of their expression?
No owl anymore; has found its rest.
Wish I could.
The darkness continues, my eyes open;
Typing on, through the night…
No commitments, for that I’m glad.
No place to be; no one to see…
I think of rest and listen to the night…
Quiet still.
Just the night, the keyboard and a screen of white…
Words on a canvas trying to have meaning…
Words of the night flowing through weary hands…
One finger, then two; no more; no less; typing words once thought.
Copyright ©2011 LeRoy Dean All Rights Reserved
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