She
            makes
                             the
                                        sound
                                        The
                    ­      trees
             make
Me
             feel    
                          so
                                     at
                                              ease
Sleep...

I twist and turn,
Suffle in my
Hospital bed.
The drum of
The dextrose drops,
Plays as the background
For my despondent lulluby.
Clickering and clackering;
The white feet
On the frozen
Hospital floor
Feature the vocals
Of the weeping relatives
I do not know.
A chorus
Of morose songs
That bellow
From the valley
Of faded faces
Dulls the senses
Of the patients
In the ICU.
Doctors wearing
White garbs
With darkened eyes
Whisper to each other
Like a cult gathering
With prayers
And curses
On their lips.
They appear
To me
Like snakes
On the tree
Throwing sins
And travesties
To the
Invalid saints.

I, fight fervently
Against sleep.
Although almost
Twenty-four,
Am a child
Again.
A child who
Detests sleep
Like the plague
That took me.
In this hospital bed
I start my vigil;
A pilgrim to zion
Daunted by
The task before him.
Beset on all sides
By treasures
And trinkets
That would
Want him stray.
My eyes serve
As the lamp
To which
My body,
A servant,
Keeps alight.
In wait
For the return
Of the master.
An encounter
To rekindle
The bond
In childhood.
A chance
To decide
Which fashion
It will end.
So eyes,
Stay alight,
For your oil
Will only
Last one night;
Keep the fight.
Despondency
May fill these
Final moments
But at the moment
Of the master's
Return
The chorus
Of faded faces
Will turn into
Choirs of angels
And there;

Sleep.

Angel, sweet angel.

Don't let me go,
hold on tight,
May your beauty show.

Angel, sweet angel.

As pure as gold,
eyes glimmer like silver,
your wings just as bold.

Angel, sweet angel.

Sing me a lullaby,
lay down my mind,
keep the tear from my eye.

Angel, sweet angel.

Wings soft to the touch,
only you know why,
my pain hurts so much.

Angel, sweet angel.

Watch over me,
keep me safe til the day,
when the night is darkest
in silence I lay.

Angel, sweet angel.
Smile apon me,
so that the world is not as lonely

holiness dissociates between my eyes
samurais with ptsd and human tendencies
are the closest to a lulluby during noon
between rib and flesh, the movement uncomfortable