Contemplation of Morbidity

The weak night ushers betrayal,
A thousand bright stars and the hum of life.
I am expectant, attuned to the stars
And low clouds, intent, to the smell of rose
Which flutters on the breeze, the thousand eyes
Turned inward; there are remembrances
Tonight, a curve of low pressure, regions of bitter thought.
These are knotted verses, infectious desires,
Cancerous words devouring sentences;
I shun sleep, an old friend turned traitor,
Switch channels,
And dare not draw the curtains.
 

Vanessa Marsh
United Kingdom