Staggered

There is no moon tonight to guide the drunkard home,
I tell myself. I am the one who needs the light,
Weaving what had been a line when I had walked
It in reverse. A parking lot, no longer large, and
Filled with things I cannot help but hit, a world
Wrapped in black, a final challenge, stands between
My door and me. And through the door? A bed,
But little else. A woman gone beyond persuasion
Placed those glasses in my hand. She did not take
The moon with her, but I suspect, tomorrow,
I will find that she has stolen all the brilliance
From the sun.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 27 times
Written on 2010-02-23 at 12:46

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