POETRY AND ART BY CAROLINE STREET
The sun has bowed out and the moon is poised.
In the dead of night, there is scarcely any noise.
Dark and misty, the clouds just an outline,
Vague twinkling points in the hazy moonshine.
A few eager, bright stars show their position,
Or else they'll be lost in the dusty cosmos.
Sleep is evasive for the insomniac
As the sounds of nature are magnified.
The hoot of an eagle owl,
Frogs croaking in shining black pools;
In the distance, a lonely dog howls.
A thud, a bump, the scrape of twigs on glass;
Are those footsteps on the stone path!
Those creaking, old roof timbers
And the scurrying scratching of a rat
Sure gives one the shivers,
Upsets the karma -the nerves a jitter!
Despite the trickery of the mind,
And after another cup of tea,
Another chapter of a book to kill time;
The corridors of sleep are still elusive.
The subconscious held captive
By continuous, invasive thought.
Speculation and introspection;
Regrets for something done
And echoes of words left unsaid.
Bombarding images of life and inspiration,
Conviction and contemplation.
Sleep is now way behind schedule
For the weary intellect;
However, insomnia cannot mar the day
Which ushers in a sense of security.
The exaggerated thoughts of midnight fade;
Negatives develop into positives
And fears are obscure in the bright of day.
In the battle of dark and light;
Light undoubtedly has its way! ❤