The body dared not move an inch.
Every breath was carefully timed.
Each muscle was minutely managed.
Between conscious considerations,
the mind wished the heart to cease
its quickened and reckless pounding.
The rush of blood in the warm arteries
played havoc on the drums in the ears.
The dark pupils of madly widened eyes
met the blackness of the large room.
Through the generously tilted blinds,
the dark chamber could barely afford
a dismal portion of the orange glow
offered by the lamp across the street.
The senses snatched at silent subtlies.
External forces could potentially escape...
detection.
Unknowns frustrated the alert mind.
The gentlest rush of cool tingling air
through rough recesses of the throat
could mask a soft and gentle creak.
A flicker could occur the very instant
the stubbornly conscious mind
granted the blink of an eye.
Light steps could be timed
with each beat of the heart.
If such were the case,
distances were little
and time was short.
Yet, uncountable intervals had passed.
Father Time could have taken detours
and refuge back to forgotten dreams.
The brightest of the five trusted senses
could not tell if a dream had occurred.
YOU ARE READING
Warning Signs
PoetryThings go bump in the night... or did they? Are you heeding the warning signs? Tricks of the mind. Are they tricks? Or reality? That's the problem. Warning: If you're looking for a clear plot. This is not for you. Check out my other books, but not t...
