The Night

Poem By William Richards

The muffled boom, boom, boom,
the soundtrack to the ghosts behind my curtains,
chasing shifting shadows across my silent room.

Perhaps I should ask them to chase the shadows from my mind,
and all the thoughts it unwillingly retains,
the assassins of sleep I'd rather leave behind.

In silence, every sound however slight,
sabotages sleep, returning us to worldly domains,
and all the desperate darkness of the night.

And so I lie, and tune my ears to the cemetery owl's call,
the thud, thud, thud, from a passing car, a rumbling late night train,
the all too familiar refrain of a city night fall.

I turn, and turn, and turn on the radio, the early morning show,
and as dawn darts in and out of the waving curtains,
I finally find a cool, soft spot on my badly battered pillow.

Too late to sleep, too tired to think, too early to rise,
another day ahead filled with things uncertain,
the only challenge left to me now, is opening my eyes.

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