Pillows

Beneath the hush of night,
I believe our pillows guard the heart’s deepest secrets,
Restless whispers cling to waking hours,
Phantoms linger in the dreaming eye

The recurring ones -
Dark nights moaning like lonely hills,
Alleys where you run but never escape
Stairs tumbling beneath your feet.

Sometimes a familiar face drifts near,
A loved one’s presence, half-seen,
or an apparition carrying familiar feelings,
tender yet impossibly distant,
tearing the veil from trembling souls.

The rare ones -
Unexpected, swirling mysteries,
Peeling open the sheath of sheltered feelings,
Leaving spirit bare.

Pillows being familiar, fleeting comfort -
head pressed to a mother’s hand,
While we lie awake,
Dreams coiling like ivy on a ruined tower,
Ever clinging, ever searching.

Questions linger,
Exhaustion weighs
Unsolving the riddles of ourselves.
Locked within the silent diary of the night,
Remembering,
Sometimes forgetting.