Disquiet’s rumble strains suffered intense,
floating notes’ birdsong to salvation spent,
forgotten in precedent nestled allure,
recovered in mythical dream.
Strangers penetrate unripened flesh,
tormented sacred by unfriendly hands as secreted harmony
shakes ’neath my bed.
Blinking sad minutes stretch
like crying stars, careless to lie in shattered
glass baskets.
Morning breathes chance to see portal
green eyes waking to greet me, I know I’m alive.
The words don't fit. They rarely do.
By Tom Merriman
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wordsandthoughtspjs 
I love the image of the shattered glass baskets, and your last line is a comfort!
I really loved the third and fourth verses too as you recovered from the night’s torment.
Oooooh – Bravo to you m’dear this one is like listening to a virtuoso play the full range of the keyboard. 🙂
wow…what a contrast…the strangers sullying the unripe flesh…which is violent, to the soft waking to eyes that know you in the end….very nice pamela..
Morning breathes chance to see portal
green eyes waking to greet me, I know I’m alive
A lot to be thankful for in life which one often takes for granted. Nice reminder here Pamelita!
Hank
Those shattered glass baskets speak to me of a profound sadness, one that is unable to find wholeness and wellness again.
Dreaming of the One
wow, Pamela… crying stars blew my mind
I love all of this Pamela. A dreamscape of tangled images, waking to those welcome green eyes.
Morning… what a relief…!
Mornings do sometimes come with relief. Nice work, Pamela. 🙂