Wednesday, February 27, 2008

The Thief

This morning I woke up with a chill at 6:43am, the covers dumped in a colossal blue heap on the floor, and a slight headache: the victim of an all too vigorous dream, I suspect.

Whether it was a bad dream, or a good one, I cannot say, since I am terrible at interpreting symbols.

It did leave me with an idea for a poem though. So, I suppose, I should be grateful to Heaven for that...

The Thief

On nights like these—
So dark, so cold—
Are fires lit
And stories told,

While in my bed
My lover sleeps.
And I wake up
With icy feet.

A cough, a twitch,
Then all is still;
And one is left
To contend with a chill:

To wonder if
As cold as he,
Might turn to steal

My comforter
To make itself
More comfortable.
It’s possible.


saving-faith said...

The poem is beautiful..

Its always discomfort which brings out the best in you isnt it?

I mean, if you were warm and snug you would just cuddle up and snore a little bit longer...

The poem wouldnt quite be there if the chill hadnt pulled you awake...

Shropshirelad said...

I think you might be right.

Comfort makes me a uncomfortable: I am sort of always waiting for the next shoe to drop.

I am not sure this is the wisest way to approach the world, but now and then I get a poem out of it, which is a pretty nice reward.

I am glad you liked the piece!