I have to ask the hawk
Who fell from its
Lofty flight.
If it was able
To fly, again.
If it was able
To flap its wings
In the very wind
Which reeked of—
Betrayal.

I have to ask the curtain
Which bore the abuses
And slander.
If it was able
To open itself, again.

I have to ask men
If my verses
Were ever heard.
If they ever gave
That soul shattering impact.

I have questions umpteen
To which I know not
The answers.
But I’m exhausted.
And my lids laden
With slumber.
And my heart emanating
Muffled tones.
And there’s a cavity
In my breast, which
Only slumber can mend.
But I know not
Of this sleep.
And I think, at times,
It’s better, not knowing.
I’ll embrace it now,
So— “Lights Out!”