A Ploy Of Time

No one
heard the turmoil
in my sleep
nor the rattling sound
barricading my dreams
inside
my stuttering mind-
silence
must be deafening indeed.

I bruised my brown eyes
as I furrowed my forehead
and dusted attachments
from the barnyard
clinging to my
wrinkled attire –
eyes so guilty
from atonement.

The air was nostalgic
like innocence of relief
after cattle mooed
at my disorientation-
fresh air sifted
through a window
where I caught
a glimpse of daylight.

I woke up
with a sigh of
sprinkled bewilderment-
looking at the wound
that never let go
like a ploy of Time.

by Leonard Dabydeen

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