There’s a room

In insomnia’s noisy tomb there’s a room
neglected, forgotten buried beyond him to exhume
beneath piles of thoughts sluggish, half-formed
relics when from child to man he transformed

in the room toys, T.V shows and trading cards sit shrouded in dust
the dust of fading, failing memories, falling as it must

though the mansion of his mind has been remodelled
countless times,
every time
something stays put
amid hope’s ashes and dream’s soot
that something is the room that holds a half-forgotten childhood
played out amid warm Island’s houses, fields, beaches and woods
where the boy learned lowest bad, learned highest, noblest good

Now to sleep the man must find again some joy
remembering the flailing steps of that bright little boy
then  might he find the key, out of sleepless trap
totter to the little room, there to take a rest
psyche at peace
mind released
thoughts cease!-sleep. The Best.


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