In The Absence of Sleep

I can scarcely keep my eyelids from

Drifting downwards on their own accord,

Acuity left me two days prior and I am

Sure that each word that I record is useless.

The gratitude that I am going to attempt

May appear as nothing more than

Gibberish being spouted from a mind

That is absolutely tapped out—I may

Collapse—will probably pass out—

By time this passage reaches resolution

But it is absolutely necessary that I mention,

Raise to attention, the fretful fact that

As much as I would like to rest, and relieve

The longest string of wakeful hours of my

Life, I would even more enjoy taking a moment

To thank you for being an inspiration.

I am so incredibly thankful for meeting you

That I cannot think of a single syllable or

Set of sentences that can express my heart.

And although circumstance may not always

Be kind, I understand the commitments

That you have made—and it is quite possible

That I am making a frivolous point—but

Your heart is so kind that I worry that you

May take it upon yourself to feel pangs

Of guilt for not being able to reciprocate

The same laudation I have felt.

But before I sleep, before I rest,

Before I hibernate to the end of days,

Ease my mind, and pass out for possibility

The rest of the season, I must be positively

Certain that you know that your amity alone

Is enough to spin my head and have me feeling

Blessed to be a person on this planet—

Blessed to have a heart still beating,  

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Kindest Heart Beating

When the door closes, and we part—

Our paths divide in a precarious—curious—

Passing that primarily caters to the piece of me

That longs to dive into your innermost workings,

And meet the puppeteers within your headspace.

The thoughts that make you uniquely you—

Are the uttermost enigmas that are etched

Delicately by the articulations you deliver—

Benevolence and passion I wish to uncover

And with permission, hold forever.

When you are not near, I hobble home

With my heart hording your figure, wishing

I had another moment to bashfully peer

Beyond your eyes to the person beneath,

Or dare to discover your deepest dreams.

For in that moment, between breaths,

I would long to speak and embellish

The beauty that binds you truly.

I could spend a century contently

Counting your finest features.

When we part, pass, proceed, progress

Or push on, I ponder upon how, as much

As I would like to hold your arm,

It seems, equally as much I yearn

To gratify the gears of your mind.

I wish to mingle amongst a unity

Of mutual understanding, beginning

With the cognitions and comprehensions

That can both breed compassion

And ignite a blissful feeling

You are the portico on the steps

Of a summered season—a being

Who might be mentioned alongside

The seraphs of heaven—For yours

Is the kindest heart beating.

     DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.blogspot.com

Damned to Be Dreary

Truly, I wish that I could bestill a belief

Within myself to admit that I am adequate,

And by definition, say that I am okay.

But there is a blueness that cannot be beat,

A battered being that I bought, with the ability

To allot frivolous ambitions—A shadow

That was slyly cast, to burn the footprints

That simply sank into the snow

While winter winds blew upon the hearth—

And I fell… Into the froth of a saddened day.

Each insipid path is a different way

To be damned and dreary, and farther

Follow the past reluctance, the knowing

That, no, I am not as you may quaintly

Say—okay, fine, cheery, a dear, or peachy.

I am spent and sleepy—I am earthed and empty.

I am bound to envision the extremity,

Fastened beneath the lightest touch,

A gloom before serendipity’s reciprocal itch.

There is a plague that is piercing my form,

Corroding my flesh and leaving me

Feeling both incomplete and lost—

It consumes me while awake

And I swim in it while asleep.

      DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com

A Dangerous Paradigm I Do Not Understand

 Perhaps the paradigm has passed me by,

And I have been kept alive for merely

My own awakening—I may learn yet,

That I slept soundly through the seasons

And that brevity is the bane I have braided—

The same sickness I have contrived…

The seraph that seems to surface!

I deem a dream I once had the epitome

Of my being—a fantastic fantasy of mine,

Molted into colours fit for a thousand butterflies.

It is a daily dance that delivers itself to me,

And feigns the faintest passions to make

Midnight appear as morning—a starless

Sky that I stare into until my eyes start

Tiring… But still it seems appropriate

That these are the moments my head

Stalls its spinning, and I capture clarity

Amongst my confusion and clutter.

I mutter along and stutter my simplest

Desires—drifting aimless like a ship

Sailing through wreckage—reckless!

The pining veiled with the vexation

Of one who is both majestic and missing—

The fruition of frivolous wishing—

The resultant of too much thinking.

But time is still ticking, and I am left

With a lustful lesion build from brooding

Upon the feeling that have haunted me

Thoroughly since I last tipped my hand.

I am sorrowed by withered words

That may never live to enlighten a page

Or become anything more than a dreary

Assortment of ink and dust.

       DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Cease

Between the desire to love and be loved,

There is a trap baited with monstrous feelings.

It starts with a radiating ache, deep within.

And leads me astray at the most nondescript

Of moments—it is a warning to pocket pride

And with heavy breath, edge my ego aside…

It is the syllables that pass from your lips

That I yearn for, when awake or at rest—

For it seems, I could dream a thousand dreams

And never find a smile as entirely encapsulating

As the one you wear with ease...

My courage must be akin to a frightful child’s—

Because I wish to hide behind metaphors

And other poetic devices that remain unnamed.

The passion is fixed, and dredged across my chest

To perfectly print the pining with physical ink—

A tattoo to display how fully I am vexed.

But I cannot forget, or delay the dreary image

That has twisted my hand and tilted the

Basis of every decision I have ever hoped to make.

My head spins and I feel silly—I wish to escape

The corridors that bind my thoughts,

And leave me feeling incomplete. 

      Dannyetman

www.DanielYetman.com

Every Feeling Known to Man

Surely, it must be a combination

Of every feeling known to man

That haunts me still—binds me

To pensive nights and rustles

Me awake from the deepest sleep.

I must be the most optimistic

Of all the pessimists, for when I see

You smile—when I catch a glimpse

Of your tender visage—I regain my faith

And am reminded that there is good

In this world after all.

Speaking with words I’ve contrived

I hope to relay a message that I’ve

Yet to define—I would like to shed

Light on a feeling I don’t completely

Understand… Will I ever comprehend

Why I cannot sleep, or why my

Thoughts are bound to you even

When I try to clear my mind?

I don’t believe… I don’t believe

That I will ever truly be able to illustrate

The words within my heart

      DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com

In My Dreams

Not in my wildest dream, or most wonderful

Of fantasies… Could I have invented

A more lissome figure or graceful being,

I could not have created an image or have found

Words capable of describing such beauty

Inside and out. Each time I see you, I want to cry—

Now, I don’t want you to feel distressed,

Or think that I’m anything less

Than overjoyed each time we meet…

But every time I see you

I become overwhelmed with emotion,

Simply because I’m so glad we’ve met.

And I wouldn’t trade those feelings

For any worldly possession—

You remind me that I am alive,

And that my heart continues to beat.