Photo courtesy of

Tapestry in Black

Now I lay.
Me, down…
to sleep
the startled, interrupted unrest
of the depressed.

Were it simply tears by day,
then hitting pillow come the light of the moon;
this, people would “get.”

The complicated tapestry
woven in shades of black.
The schedules I lack.
The discipline gone slack.
The coat left on the rack.
The never going back.

The pills I must ingest
to calm the manic distressed
and keep myself on track

My folly is my trolley:
What track?
Was I s’posed to stop there?

Now I lay.
Me, down.
To sleep?
I gaze at the inconstant moon,
wishing I were of silver hewn.

Morpheus, come, please claim
this shattered, fragile frame.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

For Poets United Think Tank Thursday, Moon

Photo courtesy of