#WritcoPoemPrompt37
In the quietest part of the night,
When you hover between dark and light,
Wondering if you can float away on dreams,
Hoping they won't turn into screams...

In the busiest bustle of commerce,
When your working to keep the seams together,
Grinding your nose and fingers down to the bone,
Barely pausing to acknowledge dreams.

In the putrescent garbage scented heap,
When you slip and fall,a stumbling trip
Abating compost like a baby breast wean.



© Gwen Canfield The Finishers Touch Poetry