It's been a while now, I know, and it's been quiet lately.
That's why I dug into my archives (i.e. old notebooks) to
find another untitled poem to post.  c&c not necessary,
but will be very welcome.


In the twilight, I have trouble sleeping unless
I am sure that the doors and windows are
secured.  I often grope for a flashlight, and
manually check the premises.  After the ground
floor, my bare feet resound on wooden steps
leading to rooms upstairs.  I turn off the light.

It surprises me to realize that no one locks his
or her room.  I open the first room and put my
head in.  She sleeps so soundly, so tidily.
Her covers show no sign of turns of restlessness.
She doesn't moan;  she sighs, the way she
does when we eat, the same way when she
smiles when we thank her for just being her.
I nod my head, chuckle and slowly close the door.

The second room opens effortlessly also.  The
moon shines sweetly through the window.  I
cross the room to pull the curtains.  She must
be dreaming;  I can almost hear word for
word her lines of thought.  I look at her;
I see she only whispers nothings I was not
meant to hear.  Tucking her in, I leave.

The third room is thrown in darkness, but my
eyes accustomed need little force to focus.  All
her plush dolls are on the shelf, yet she sleeps
with a little smile.  Though no voice escapes,
her mouth is in conversation with an unseen
friend.  A name is on her lips and eludes me.
Not long ago, I would run my fingers through
her hair to still her tears, her fears.  But no more.

I wake up.  It is still night.  I fell asleep at
her desk.  I remove any sign of entry and 
walk towards the door.  I wonder how much
time has passed without my knowing it.


Well, that's it for now.  

"We apologise for the inconveniences."
                - God's Final Message to His Creation
                  So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish
                  Book Four of Douglas Adams's 
                  Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy

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