That Which Takes the Dark

insomnia_by_agnes_cecile-d462xxl

4 a.m., and sleep seemed a thing impossible.

The mottled face of the ceiling was like that of the moon,
pale and barren, and offering nothing.

His eyes moved to the orange strip of street-lamp glow
cast across the bedroom wall by the window.

He watched the steam from the sewer drains
wash and dance
like ripples across a mud puddle,
before once again glancing at the hands
of the Big Ben clock at his bed-side.

Sleep wasn’t coming.

It had made its appearance brief, and seemingly
had moved on, leaving him to yearn.

Now, he did yearn,
but attempted to stop, for he knew
such an act would yield nothing.

-BSB

Celestial Sisters

thThe Pacific Ocean is akin to the face of the moon
by both its size, unfathomable,
for a mind such as mine to properly compute,
and likewise, its effect
of uniting men and women for eons.

Through the history of humankind
in all its bloodshed, and orgasms,
and soft drinks, and me,
the moon has always been there
for all the world’s people to gaze upon,
with necks bent skyward, and endless fascination,
and so has the ocean.