Nighttime Poetry

When Night Grinds Into Mourning

Midnight beckons upon this hour.  

The sweetness of night has finally gone sour 

due to my tired, overexerted state of being.  
Sleep can truly feel this freeing.

Working late results in staying up

until my next morning's coffee cup 

bids me 'good morning' and begins my day.

I try my best to meet it half-way

by pretending to be awake. 

With at least one eye open, for heaven's sake.

Work in Progress, Literally and Figuratively

 Not my favorite one thus far but it's still in the revision stage of its construction.

Dissatisfaction

I know what it means

To obtain temporary glimpses of bliss.

I think of the euphoric togetherness of a masterful chorus

And the virtual aloneness amongst the esoteric redwoods.

These brief instances blossom into nostalgic recollections.

But when I come up for air, emptiness awaits me.

Disjointed like a side-by-side refrigerator, 

I am dissatisfied with my befuddling, complicated existence.

I am frustrated by my limited understanding 

of the world around me and how much I have yet to learn.

I am on a path much treaded but rarely fulfilled.

Yet Another Poem

Kindred Spirits

Before he begins another,

The pianist adjusts his tired frame.                               

He smiles in her direction.

She cannot find the words

To tell him how he

Has brightened her otherwise sunless day.

So she simply smiles in return.

Preliminary Attempts with Poetry

Solitary Confinement

 I look around me.

 In my home I am a guest.

                                 So distraught and without rest.                               

 I am better than this?

 In an alley way of uncertainty,

 I am cornered from within.

Am I any different than

The next solitary soul?

With the words I choose,

I am able to express

The wailing dirge of my duress.

There is hope after all?