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Sunday

Don’t Knock It


Don’t Knock It

 Who's that knocking at my door . . . both now and forevermore?



Sleep Stalking

What guides the unexpected guest.
Disturbing muse, upending nest?
No wish untold,
Nor egg of gold
May satisfy his bold behest.

The paradox of all my days
Erupts in slumber’s entry phase –
When wispy sight
In dusk delight
Does captivate my gawking gaze.

For though he may on rest intrude
And trample softest solitude,
Persistent still,
He raps until
The truth may topple attitude.

For all he asks is all I own,
Which measures nothing to atone.
With empty palms
And hollow alms,
May I belong to him alone.

c2010 by Linda Ann Nickerson


Posted for a variety of prompts:
Simply Snickers (“gold,” “guest” and “guide”)

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Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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