When Left to Myself
It's two in the morning and I'm left with the dread that I'm on my own again.
The sky outside is faded with a dull gray light,
There's a forthcoming shadow in the trees.
Strewn across my room is the usual liter,
Still now its too chaotic for me.
So I keep to my vigil at the open window,
But the sun won't show its face.
All is silent but the locust's stark cadence,
And the hiss of the wind in the trees.
The world is hushed, but my mind is shouting,
And I've no way to give it peace.
Left to myself, I fear what comes when my thoughts pour out stagnant and raw,
For I know that this thick sorrow is not only a phase,
This restlessness forlornness not an adolescent stage.
But yet I wait for the dawn,
Proverbial yet real,
My heart,
My mind,
Betting on unseen lots.
