Hypnos
This fatigue is like
a prison cell
Opium smoke
I did not mean to inhale
A hypnagogue
I worship in
The walking dead
That’s me
Birthday
No more birthdays
But here’s supplies
for your survival
For many tomorrows
Maybe tomorrow
is going nowhere
There’s a lost soul
who’s wandering nowhere
down roads the poets paved
with their own flesh and blood
There’s a child
whose birthday has
come and gone
He wished for something
Maybe something
is better than
nothing at all
Stephanie Smith is a poet and writer from Scranton, Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in such publications as PIF MAGAZINE, ROSE & THORN JOURNAL, EVERYDAY POETS, THE HORROR ZINE, and BLUESTEM. Her first poetry chapbook, DREAMS OF DALI, is available from Flutter Press.
Stephanie Smith's poetry impresses me more each time I encounter it.
ReplyDeleteThe second poem in this small group says too much for some of us on certain days.