Turn to Night

Olde Punk

RamJet Poetry


I do not feel needed

but sometimes wanted

I’m often beneath you

and a bit haunted

Opening doors that go nowhere

at dawn

Marching to pale tunes

ever a pawn

coalescing over green hills

dew drop serenade

As long as I swallow the pills

I can be unmade

awaken whole with feverish start

glum the forecasting

of the pulling apart

A night comes, a day

together the same

marching to pale tunes

that unspell my name

I do not feel wanted

but alas I am needed

there’s a chilling wind

and clouds have been seeded

turn toward the storm

thundering its might

the rains are cold

as day turns to night

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9 thoughts on “Turn to Night

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