poetry by j matthew waters

counting sheep on a sunday night

it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
my favorite moon having left me for another

lying down I give in to silence
barely breathing in the dead of night
counting blessings and honestly questioning
whether or not I can feel my age-old bones

two scores ago I’d be falling fast asleep
transistor radio my only companion
rhythmically influencing my dreams
mysteriously quiet come mid-morning

if I could escape I certainly would
exploring the night like an owl or dormouse
flying high above or crawling on all fours
secretly returning home in the nick of time

it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
the midnight hour peacefully drawing near

january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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6 thoughts on “counting sheep on a sunday night

  1. Have you been dreaming more? Or sleeping less?

  2. Do you remember your dreams, this poem is soft like a dream.

  3. Ghost Moon on said:

    An outstanding poem, and incisor like
    sharp intellect

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