Night has awakened with its <br />rustling claws; searing shearing; <br />meager remnants of sleep <br /> <br />Soon the bins of home unworthy <br />thoughts, littering streets of forehead <br />would stench signs <br />that undo fastenings <br />“of happily ever afters” <br /> <br />Last of fires from your shoulders <br />where my head had rested once <br />offered some hope <br />to wrest out winter <br />from the frozen lines <br />of fate <br /> <br />In that endless jungle of insomnia <br />someone laughed <br />I washed and enshrouded <br />Another corpse of laughter <br /> <br />Perhaps nights always <br />have the last laugh<br /><br />Frank Lisa IndiRa Francesca Roger Platt Cornish Martin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/awake-34/
