This is so true. Night is the time I remember all the dumb things I’ve done.
We are all virtual prisoners of time
guarded by ticking hands of the clock
trapped in flashbacks gnawing at our minds
that feed our fears as we take useless stock
A vapid predator in the night they stalk
when we are most vulnerable and weak
under cloak of darkness with stealth they walk
in the mid-watch hours when all seems bleak
Into our quagmire of self-doubt they creep
prodding at the tenderest pink scars
in a whining voice they ardently speak
preying on our imaginary horrors
But then through the portal comes hope; a golden dawn
for all worries vanish in the healing light of dazzling sun.
Author’s Note: I worked on a revision to this sonnet, so the last couplet is a resolution. Many Thanks for the feedback!
dVerse Poets Pub: https://dversepoets.com/2019/01/03/poetry-forms-the-sonnet/
davidbruceblog #2 