written during a sleepless night
Oct 12, 2001
Wandering between the wrinkles in the sheets My mind chews on the tattered rags of stress. Vagabond, furtive, recalcitrant; Sleep is a prey to be hunted. Time is unsympathetic, Intellectual and yawning, Ensconced in the smug repose of easy victory. Twisted under rumpled covers, a pillow becomes A battle ground; bruised and cratered with the aftermath of violence. Mercenaries with advertisements of surefire solutions Shamelessly hawk their wares: "Medicines; elixirs; late night tv." All are bunk. Each night is an adventure with waterlogged boots and a missing map. Sleep, however, is a tramp with no gumption. Huddled at a cold fire, Weary; slurring his words, He confesses defeat, Tempered by a parting shot hurled with consummate brass. "What took you so long?"
Peter Falkenberg Brown is passionate about writing, publishing, public speaking and film. He hopes that someday he can live up to his favorite motto: “Expressing God’s kind and compassionate love in all directions, every second of every day, creates an infinitely expanding sphere of heart.”