Standing in the wings of life

waiting in the shadows, in the dug out,
on the bench, I’m counting sheep
hoping to fall asleep but not
too deep, I want to reach
that theta wave state
body asleep but
soul awake
if I could
that distant
lake before the
waters recede leaving
the fish to bake and rot
in the summer sun; I want
no part of that like being left
to clean what got swept under
life’s rug for more years than I
can count; where is she now my
one and only love and did she reach
the finish line or do I need to go back
over the past dodging enemy bullets and
mines to find her lying in some forgotten ditch
wounded perhaps beyond repair by finally coming
to her sences and listening to her heart as it repeats
only my name once and for all is she going to listen or
is it just too damn late and I like a bird that mated for life
must spend the rest of my days on earth circling around her
corpse; what say you Shakespeare, “alas poor Yorick” you knew
him well while meanwhile Dante takes us on an advanced tour of hell

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