It was only by chance

that in my decreasing state of awareness,

of Morpheus’ gradual tightening grip on the synapses

in

my

brain

and the closing down of reason and rational expectation,

that I forgot to switch off the phone

that led to call of desperation being heard.

 

In the darkness of the winter night,

the shrill of Bell’s worst nightmare

woke me from the deepening fugue and of wrestling dreams

and hazily I crawled,

groped and moaned aloud in ever increasing

volumes

to shut the noise out and let my own shadow take me

to a promised land

in which no other could reach me again.

 

The phone, piercing, penetrating my resolve to let peace descend

and let my own lasting slumber win through, spoke across

the dead of night and pleaded with me,

grovelling with weight pushing down the line

and the communication Gordian knot becoming heavier with each passing

bleak filled note  as images of wonder crossed my tired mind.

With blazing light from the forty watt bulb

calling me to conscious, I found empty air greet me

as the bitter pill I swallowed taking my time was in the end, futile.

 

Ian D. Hall