By Invitation Only.


The window blurts-
An old invite,
Before dawn yawns,
Its sun outside.

Dark, drag me more,
Into the night,
Its filled too much,
Of endless sight.

That wakes again;
In closen sighes,
That live in deep,
In listless eyes.

And sits like wisps,
To gather quiet,
And fill my mind,
With passions slight.

For dreams to rise,
And for moments fight;
And bear no more,
Nostalgia's spite.

And look at world,
As if it might,
Roll in sleep,
And take to flight;

Which tired eyes,
Do daily right,
In waking days,
To seldom write-

That how this play,
Of dark and light,
Some living call;
But i most despise.