When you sleep, all the voices in your head
sleep too. Maybe they tiptoe round a dream
to find somewhere to sleep. Mostly they seem
to vanish, and you smile. You’re safe. Your bed

a neutral zone where neither your despair
nor wild and deadly joy can bruise your mind
to bleeding. All your chemistry grows kind,
and soothes, that sharp awake strips shiny bare

the wires and crosses them to make them spark
and you dance to the flashes in your brain
are happy past enduring, or in pain
you think you’ll never come out of the dark

Grief storms and wild delights – they are not real.
Sleep is the gentler dark that helps you heal


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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