Friday, 16 January 2009

Not enough time to deal with hurting.

So here is, yet another, poem.

Comeclose and Sleepnow

it is afterwards
and you talk on tiptoe
happy to be part
of the darkness
lips becoming limp
a prelude to tiredness.
Comeclose and Sleepnow
for in the morning
when a policeman
disguised as the sun
creeps into the room
and your mother
disguised as birds
calls from the trees
you will put on the dress of guilt
and the shoes with broken high ideals
and refusing coffee
Roger McGough

The things that take you away from comeclose and sleepnow are not your mother, or someone so completely external. The guilt isn't for a simple one night stand. And there is more at stake than one simple night of happiness and comfort. It is the rest of life. It is everything, that is at stake. It isn't fleeting. That poem can only be read once. Comeclose and sleepnow. It only happens with one person. It doesn't. You dream it with others, and the speaker could be dreaming it there. It is only real with one person. Don't go. Don't go. Don't go. Don't go. Don't go. Don't go. Don't go. It was the nightingale and not the lark that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale! I'm sorry. I will have to take this down in the morning. But now, I don't care.

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