Pillow Life

There’s nothing that doesn’t find its way

Beneath my pillow.

Voices of the sea,

Songs of the trees,

Discarded chapters of yearning,

Thought’s vagrant wanderings,

Resolve’s ever ready third act,

A final curtain,

Interminably held.

Oh, how the pages of my life’s tomb

Repudiate the tormenting,

I Reminding the arms of Morpheus

That there’s limitless room beneath the pillow,

Allowing roads less traveled in my youth,

To become roads well-traveled in my adulthood.

My pillow knows…

The past can be left behind during the day,

But nighttime,

Bedtime,

Sleep time,

That is the province of the unresolved,

Prolonging consummation’s endgame,

Ambivalence needing never to slumber.

How unrelenting it’s persistence,

At times.