5. Alarm Clock

The alarm clock glows red

The numbers burn through the dark,

My closed eyelids are penetrated

And it leaves a deeply-etched mark,


Sizzled into my eyes, my head,

But how did I get from that hall to my bed?


The bloody light of the numbers

Bathe the pocket-watch’s face

In a violent crimson light;

My black and gray slumbers

Are fringed with red lace,

And speckled in white


This clock, I hear, is silent now,

But I know it can pull me out

Of this tortured dreaming of mine,

Out of this circling, endless route


Though I never saw the door before,

The hall leads off from my room, I see

I still can’t see what these rooms are for


And oh, this thirst I cannot slake!

And I must be dreaming…

…that I’m awake

The End

75 comments about this poem Feed