Midnight Musings, Pt. III

Trying to sleep.

My sister's old set of dresser drawers

sits now next to my bed,

and as I try to waive farewell

to the dearly departed day,

the battle scars tell me lullabies.

Here the varnish is stripped,

gone with the tape supporting glossies

of teenaged heartthrobs who are now

contributing members of the prison

population.  There the veneer

is peeling off entirely, a victim

of years of daily abuse,

of condensation rings seeping down

and causing the wood to split.

A drawer-knob is missing entirely,

no doubt from a fit of pubescent angst,

and the words I love are faint,

the etching faded with time,

the name below forgotten entirely,

obliviated with the swell of brokenheartedness.

Near the edge is a figure, or a fissure,

I can't stop staring at, the way

you look for shapes in clouds

or faces in woodgrain.  It appears

to be a big-eared billy goat,

either wearing a bishop's hat

or with head on fire.  I fall asleep

figuring out which is more likely.

Author's Note

Comments and constructive criticisms always helpful. :-)