Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Late Night Poetry for the Sleepless

Insomniac in the House
By Nordette N. Adams

I hang late like the living dead
like Béla from the grave
dressed to the teeth
attending a Romero feast.

I stalk Fate like the living dead
itchy-eyed and dazed.

Mama dubbed me a sleep fighting champ,
ever busting Morpheus's lip
or making him chase me deep with longing
into the cavernous night.

And still like a child I fear
what I may miss
should I close my eyes
should I retreat, recline.

I fear I'll miss what should be mine
craftily hidden by spiteful beasts
that keep secrets,
that keep time.

© 2010 Nordette N. Adams

1 comment:

le0pard13 said...

Love it. You are on a roll, Nordette. Thanks for this.