Restless, I roll onto my side and reach into the darkness for the switch.


My domain within the vastness.

A den for my thoughts.

Beyond this bed, a few scattered books and clothes.

Beyond the softglow walls and curtains, the world’s insomniac hum, tragic sirens.

Within, the endless screech of steel being pared from steel on lathes of a shadow past that turn within my damaged ears.

And where are you?

Is it dark there, too? Or are you walking through the grey morning of your photographs?

Your name rests silently on my lips.


The moments of our life hang in galleries of dormant hope, mythical and mystical among the stars.

Scenes lensed through an angel’s eye – endlessly in play, an instant from the sigh upon the stairs, the shadow in the hall – lived between two beats of the undiscovered heart.

Fading now, I roll again, reaching out and switching back to night.

© parsonthru 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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I enjoyed this, it’s got some great lines ‘walking through the grey morning of your photographs ‘ I think it needs a little work to take it to great, but what do I know….and anyway I really did enjoy the read.

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