[M] Whirda's Poetry & Prose

[PepsiWhirda]

Awake

I am awake in the hours after midnight,
in those fossilized seconds
when things are close enough to quiet
that every noise flows down
like liquid thunder to your core,
& strikes a shiver in your heart.

When things are close enough to dark
that you become so fascinated by light
you time the beacon blinks
of all the tiny diodes,
when you can hear every sputtering flash
scream like lightning beyond your eyelids.

When things are close enough to still
that you are pried loose
from the distractions of the day,
& all that’s left
are the should haves
& what ifs
& why nots
of another day
squandered.

I am awake for the graveyard shift,
beside the beleaguered legions
for whom drawn shades and sunrise
hold much deeper meaning
than for you & I,
for whom the seaside sway of a pretty girl
who struts beneath the freckled sky
is its own diary entry,
its own cherished memory.

I am awake
when the serpent hiss of railway inertia
is the object of focus,
rather than ambient noise.

I am awake
when the streets shrug off their pavement
and take on the ambient flicker
of decaying streetlights.

I am awake
when every porcelain specter is ominous,
& gaunt,
& yet somehow reassuring.

I do not envy the sleeping many,
those who never feel
the tensile strength
of creativity drawn taut by fatigue,
or taste the air
when all reverberation fades
& what it leaves behind
is free from the aspartame dirge
of the day.

I do not envy you
& I ask you not to pity me
for, of the two of us,
I am the one
awake.