Of Sleep Deprived
Of sleep deprived,
I have arrived,
to a place of wrought.
To stare at the screen,
without a dream,
interceding on my thought.
To try to compose,
while the end of my nose,
dives into the extreme.
Asleep at the wheel,
I try to feel,
the edges of my stream.
But it is for naught,
for without a thought,
I’m live at some scene.
Only to awake,
after a brief break,
start over from when.
Woe is the cost,
of all this time lost,
I will never, ever have it, again.
While MacArthur Park,
Melts in the dark.
I drift off in the rain.
Thank you, Jimmy Webb
More Poems
My Place
Read War's End, the Novel
Copyright
2010 © Ronald W. Hull
2/27/10