To swallow all the cup of sleep will hold,
let slumber’s liquid slip into your brain
then drink the final drops of dreams so old
that each recalls the first of falling rain.
To tumble down your deepest mental hole,
where darkness blinds the sight that was acute
and shadows make a shelter for your soul
because the point was never merely moot.
To freefall from the highest scenic view,
the altitude where sanity holds sway
and in the plunge forget the names you knew
though faces, they will never go away.
No matter where you go or how you start
you cannot flee the longings of your heart.
About the Poem
This sonnet tries to paint the furthest distance you might want to run from things you want but cannot have. It also suggests that even those distances will never be far enough.
This poem was completed June 14, 2003. It is previously unpublished in print.