Bed of Inquiries

in ghostly whispers

that come unbidden at midnight,

i hear echoes of your laughter

and, for an instant,

the distinct and present feeling

of a hand brushing gently

against my hungry skin

when Memory falls over me like this --

tripping on words unsung,

actions never acted upon,

phrases unturned --

i am left with a

dull dissatisfaction

and the need for closure

where there is none.

when does peace come?

where does solace rest?

how does longing become fulfillment?

my patience lies panting and tattered

on the side of the road,

exhausted by the questions that

run me ragged at the witching hour.

questions unanswerable

questions unavoidable

questions that haunt me

in the stronghold

of Nyx's darkened realm.

questions that,

like her,

are born of Chaos.

where and how do i find hope

for my unknown future

when 20/20 hindsight

is all that is afforded to me?

how do I approach my invisible destiny

with eyes wide open,

a blinder-free spirit ,

a heart unfettered by fear

a determination filled with willing gentleness?

in the dark-outside

the telephone wires hum

with the dreams and doubts of others,

the skies sing a hymn

with a chorus of stars,

the moon exhales

a quiet breath as she wanes

and I?

I lay silent in my bed of inquiries

with a pillow of active thought for my

restless head,

praying that the lullaby

of the cosmos

will sing me swiftly,

soothingly,

into the

loving arms

of Morpheus.

© Tanya Anguita