Sleeping in my Sleep

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Poem about closed eyelids, dreams, and sleeping, my take on an over-used concept.

Submitted: May 09, 2007

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Submitted: May 09, 2007



A brush of the lips,

Phantom hands, whisper fingers

I have not yet felt the warmth

Of a lovers body resting to mine,

But the whispers, oh how I’ve heard

The whispers.


Gossamer strand on the brow,

A wrinkled face, dreamless ghosts

Sway the sleeping gaze downwards,

Gaze the sleeper rests here, down,

Where’s there’s nothing but the whispers,

Oh, how I’ve heard the whispers.


The nervous hum of the throat

Through a dream falling true

Wake a cry, asleep and resting,

Terrified and running,

The reaper’s whispering fear

Oh, how I’ve heard the whispers.


A twitch of the finger,

Phantom piano key,

Spirits dance ebony and bone

To the night time music,

The mother’s womb music,

The night mother’s whisper

Oh, how I’ve heard the whispers.


Running along the collar bone

A sheet pulled back, a ghost’s greed

Swelling, ripe and filled,

A sweeping stare through sleeping eyes,

A passion blossom in a dreamless sigh

Quiet and whispering, Oh,

How I’ve heard the whispers.


The flutter of an eyelid,

The heightened weight of the senses

The lover’s painted slumber,

A place unprepared, too raw,

To vague, too perfect for a boy

Who could only whisper,

Oh, how I’ve heard the whispers.


Oh, how I’ve waited into the night

Oh, how I’ve shivered the solitude,

Oh, how I’ve danced with the moon,

Oh, how I’ve heard the faint music,

Oh, how I’ve heard the whispers.

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