Exultation

I

Laboriously climb

The rock-hewn stairs

Towards exultation.

Yet at every step,

I pause and think

If I'd be better off

Turning back

As my sweat drips down.

But I can't.

I've been there--

And the only way

Is up.

Pyre of Insomnia

Insomina

Is the pyre

of the Self.

But...

Who is holding the match?

Insomniac's Lament

Hear

My mournful sleepless tune,

My insomniac's lament.

A cat meows dolefully outside my window.

Somewhere,

A dog barks.

Meanwhile, I toss and turn,

Hoping for a glimpse of sleep.

But if I do fall asleep...

What will happen to my poems?

A Letter to Insomnia

Dear Insomnia,

You're responsible

For some of my best poems.

I hate you...

Please don't leave me.

Sleep Combat

I toss and turn,

Waging fierce combat

Against the sleeping pill.

Will I sleep? Will I dream?

I don't know.

All I can do

Is write this poem

And hope for the best.

The Ferryman

In a self-created hell,

there is no Charon

To ferry us across

The river Styx.

We are alone.

The one remaining place

To seek out the ferryman

Is inside.

Crunchy Leaves

Laying in bed,

Tossing and turning,

I think of the crunchy leaves

I stepped on earlier.

And I feel guilt

That no one else will ever

Step on those same leaves again.

I've effectively planted my flag

Expanding my crunchy leaf dominion.

Others will just have

To live with that.

Silence

Silence is a gift

For which we have so little time.

A shame--

We can scarcely comprehend

All it could tell us

If we would but listen.

Inner Wars Are Best Fought By Proxies

Toy soldiers,

Lined up in formation

In resplendent battle gear.

Peasats with pitchforks arrayed

On the other side.

Inner wars are best fought by proxies,

and I don't care who wins.

Burn Like a Billion Suns

We are like

Cigarettes

Flicked onto ice.

A feeble glow,

Barely enough to melt

A small pool underneath,

Extinguishing ourselves.

Burn like a billion suns...

Or don't bother.

Ashes

While asleep,

I caught a glimpse of You

And my heart

Became ashes.

Now what?

Inner Ear

This cigarette smoke

Is my incense;

This coffee, my sacramental wine.

Silence. No words are needed.

Listen with an ear

That opens when the

Other two are deaf.

Who can say

How long it lasts?

You Are a Message

You are a message,

Radiant and poignant,

Written by an invisible hand.

Put aside your books

And read yourself,

Illumined

By an inner light

That never fails.