Welcome to the few world.
While beauties sleep
(wheels spun and done),
We black sheep
—cursed/awake/uncounted—
Churn our tired legs
Attempting to catch dreams
On the points of our pens.
We try. We fail. Repeatedly.
Until—
Success!
With the tips of their tails pinned
—those fleeting moments—
They tear away—always—
Trailing their blood across the page.
A small trophy
For a lack of sleep.
2 comments:
So I couldn't sleep last night and started working on this one then. The first line inspired most of this as this poem ended up being anything but my intention. I know the blood on the page thing is reminiscent of Stephen Crane so bear with me on that one. I'm not a fan of the adjectives "tired" or "small" but I drew a blank with replacements.
I like the allusions of Grimm's Fairy Tales, bedtime stories, which is fitting for the subject matter. Sleeping Beauty, Rumpelstiltskin, black sheeps, cursed apples, it's all there. Even words like "churn" allude to that place of where Shrek lives, once upon a time.
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