Question

Did the day fly by,

Like the night

Of a thousand

Listless sleepings,

Shrouded in the

Dark folds

Of a life denied

Truth by the blind

Dead waking

Behind images

Darker still?

Were stories told
To tingling ears

Waiting for

Nothing less

Than madness

Drawn close

Over another

Failed attempt

To reach beyond

What you see

In the nighttime

Light?

Why these words,

Blended together so,

Softly spoken,

Ringing aloud

Inside the mind,

Echoing in a

Chamber devoid

Of a way of escape,

Meandering all the while

Down the corridor

Of Hopelessness?

Jim Hime ©2013