Passing Thoughts


Lying here with my back against a pillow,

As the night descends, a black a dreary billow,

My thoughts revolve and turn from old to new

Until they rest, at once, on you.


It is funny that I do not contemplate the mystery

Of this and every night;

I do not reflect on the duties of the day

Or what may come with morning's light.


I do not resign to restful thoughts of leaping sheep.

I do not listen to the quiet crickets cheep.

My thoughts are instantly ensnared by you

Stolen so simply, without reason or rue.


And with a twinge of sorrow and thoughtful melancholy,

I remember that day so rife with such familiar folly—

That day and those memories which I cannot release,

That day and those memories which seem to never cease.


I know I should not dare arrive and creep

Upon these haunted accursed moors of sleep,

But I am lured into each hollow, hurting thought

And like a wandering rabbit, ensnared and caught.


Ah, the evening draws close with a chill and a bite,

As the colors just deepen into a lonesome night,

But I barely notice between the hours and thee,

For both of them have slipped away from me...