No door,
no windows,
no floor.

I float,
I toss,
I bloat.

I am a
to my own
strange dreams.

No sky,
no ground,
only space.

The distance
I travel is
miles away
from home.

I am absent
in the absent

I spin,
I stumble,
I grin.

The bed is
worried that
I can’t rouse.

But I did.
I really did.
I lacked sleep.


About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

18 Responses to Stranger

  1. sumyanna says:

    I don’t know about you but sometimes my brain just refuses to shut down. Great poem . . . You captured these thoughts really well.

  2. aplis7 says:

    coffee?! ( great poem btw!)

  3. This was my scenario last night 😥

  4. Indira says:

    You are lucky. My brain shuts down the moment I try to write . Nice poem.

  5. themonkseal says:

    Reblogged this on themonkseal.

  6. Pingback: Stranger – a poem | not in use sorry

  7. SoulWriter says:

    so am i and you and every one, strangers to this world which seems to be ours but not true it is even in the wildest dreams.nice to be read it in verse.

  8. SoulWriter says:

    every day is a question mark even the existence seems to be a dream at times and may be it is,once we may open our eyes to feel every images of now fading away just like how yesterdays are for today……

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