It’s the waking
That I dread-
When the lunatic
Retreats
To the confines
Of my head
And waits,
Peering
From behind these eyes-
It lingers hours,
Sometimes days
Before I remember-
It’s only a dream.
But, are these dreams real?
My nightmare in verse-
Showing me her face
And makes me remember
That death
Has no hold
On her old
And wrinkled neck-
It’s only touched
By microbes
living in the earth.
It’s the waking
That I dread-
When the lunatics work
Is done.