Night lifts, morning slipping through blinds, soul returning from nightly foray, body awakening, a vague sense of disconnection – admit it, you know this.

Night lifts, morning slipping through blinds, soul returning from nightly foray, body awakening, a vague sense of disconnection – admit it, you know this.
If death is sleep then surely I am close – body leaden refuses to budge, brain a slow crawl I would feel something – remorse,
Sleep comes in great fistfuls will not let me shake it tosses me in seas of dreams – a first love, teenage antics, a mother’s
so tired… the heaviness of slumber settles on me like a straight jacket – no point resisting… was it a poisoned apple that struck me
He’s comes each day at seven, wearing the cloak of night humming a lulling lullaby hypnotically taunting me with the dance of fatigue. I resist,
You’d think that sleep would be my friend. Like a lover she would seduce me, lulling me into her black oblivion, coaxing me into her
-daya bhat-
Fairy Tales, Micropoems, and Images by Peter Ellis
Focusing on the beauty. Zooming in on love.
Slow, raw and chaotic. A personal account.
books, writing, farm, travel, family, coffee, outdoors
"Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off." Prov. 23:18
Throwing my soul into the cosmos.
Never placed, but who’s counting?
Verse from an adverse mind.
All pictures taken with Phone📱
Life and love along the way...
my humanity in written form
sharing the stories of interconnection