The Writer
Sleep, never-ending consciousness,
thunder, spray dashing against
the windowpane, in the distance
railroad cars, clang, clang, clang.
Sleep, gulls screaming float through
the air, wild and free, diving into
the frothy white waves, living without
care.
Sleep, ghost trampling upon the mind
and soul, brushing shoulders with
death they surge across time wanting
their story told.
Sleep, wanting the body to relax, flip
right, flip left, the noise of the world
springs from every nerve, wistfully let
there be silence, calmness come back,
come back, come back.
Sleep, brooding, daggers in the back, rise,
dress, the night will never be soothing.
those words in the head keep moving,
mind in a rage sitting silently staring at
the blank page.
copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
Books byAuthor at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree
The Last Chapter 
💜 Sublime
…💛💚💙…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sleep. rain. A window pane…
Are you at home?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, all day long. Listening to my favorite songs.
LikeLiked by 1 person