Blankets Of Regret

Pillows soft with confusion
blankets of covered regret.
Nights fall to the silent whisper.
Days collapse; I soon forget.

Full moon rises before the February setting sun.

Winds whimper and moan; I no longer feel.

Life has been neutered before the madness is done.

Sleep comes swift beneath the blanket of regret.

Obélisques come forth from the deserts below.

The mantel falls from his shoulder; the prophet alone is swallowed in death.

J. Allen Wilson © 2/2008