I lie awake and watch the light of

A hidden sun creep its way across

The foot of my bed, probing my

Window blinds to form stripes

Like heated prison bars in a dark

Golgotha where nothing ever grows.

Sheets twisted with rancid dreams

Lay jumbled on the bedroom floor

And it occurs to me that perhaps

Things do grow here in this self

Imposed confinement, a kind of

Malaise that stirs my fevered skull.

And whether I feed on it, or it feeds

On me matters not at all, only that we

Hunger in kind from an aimless craving

To fill this blackened void, yes here, at

The center what I am, restless heartbeat

Like bloodied fists pounding out my eternity.

As that hidden sun crawls towards oblivion.

END

“Hidden Sun”