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Four Empty Shoes
by
Rusty Broadspear
Another day has kissed the dust.
Such bliss, bed, covers, good night, electric light.
Mind's eye sweeps the room and cussed,
In the gloom it follows stress
Out through the open window.
Good night world God Bless.
Prepare now reader, to enter my world,
So private and so very weird.
On my side, arms and legs curled,
Preparing for my ride.
It starts the moment I close my eyes
And take my virginal stride.
Such beautiful blackness, so deep,
Smothered in a crowd of blood red poppies,
An invitation not to slip into sleep.
This darkest field is segmented,
A face grows, I think I know I know,
Many visages so fragmented.
I love this state and know I'm there.
Colours strike bells, oh, the mystical smells!
Loved ones linger like Angel's hair.
Stickmen dance to an orange coloured tune,
I'm in the middle, oh hey diddle diddle,
Visions climbing to the colour of the Moon.
Alphabet letters floating, coloured cream
Riddles I know that float and go,
Spoken words in a distant dream.
An empty velveteen dress dances by,
Then as shades turn a spectral Autumnal,
Tightly closed eyes begin to cry.
As I lay curled deep beneath the covers
Many apparitions playfully dance.
Four empty shoes, two distant lovers
Unseen they smooch around the floor.
As I lay knowing sleep's encroaching embrace
Will leave me wanting more.
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