Sunday Scribbling #306 rest
In the puddled hours
that lay at the base
of the clock,
I wonder if I am leaving
and in the leaving
will there be grace?
I pull the tiny threads
ties that bound and
sometimes gagged,
and feel them travel
down the dreams
of future wonder
undone.
smoothing knots
like a brush drawn
through silver hair,
shimmer waves of
memory,
cascading down,
unbraided
over stooped shoulders.
weary I wish to close
sanded eyes,
and sink into dark.
cradled in safety,
doors barred against
nightmare wolves
that howl at
a gibbous moon.
My goodness Dee..what a return to Sunday Scribblings..the imagery is like a grandfather clock..assured..weighted and wise..maybe at times we crave that final rest..and yet even in the the murkiest puddles of time there is hopefully always something soothing to be found..Jae
I hate those insomnia nights but the wolves are gone and it passed. Hugs, Jae!
Glad I looked back at SS before the next prompt to find you bringing up the tail end of the field with this masterpiece. Dare not go to sleep in case you are stolen away in your slumber? It hasn’t happened yet to me so you should be safe for a little while.
Good to know, I will sleep soundly now!