White Night

Seven: Twenty Five am
cold round face-harsh
bluntly confronting and
loudly whispering softly
a sound
tick-tock, tick-tock
an uncomfortable in my face
reminder- time flies
cold round face-haunts
endlessly while
frowning magisterially
an upside down smile
angularly bent at
Seven: Twenty Five pm
a certain suspended sharpness
of a numbered eternity
hollers in a loud
tick-tock like silence
quiet but never really-
just continuous,
alluding to a secret,
an unforeseen philosophic dilemma
not yet recognized
only just like an experience
almost hallucinatory in
its intensity
Sleepless nights are
not pretty unless described
by dead poets in
a White Night way
cold round face-time
frowning magisterially again
Seven: Twenty Five am
another sleepless night
to start my day

Copyright © 2010 L.Warren