A poem - among other things.

So here I am, again, wondering what it is I ought to do. Should I try to force out a poem that actually sounds good to me? I feel like I haven't written in a month or more, which is not what I do. Writing is a constancy in my life, how could I have abandoned it so healthily?

*sighs* The words just don't seem to want to come to me, I suppose.

Dinner went great, though my sister and I got stuck in a traffic jam on the way, so it took us an extra thirty minutes. By 8 o'clock everyone, except my grandmother, was yawning. I think the cold temperature was making us just that much more sleepy. Then again, I only got . . . what, four hours of sleep? Yeah. Not good. Which is why, on the cusp of my potentially brilliantly relaxing weekend, I intend to sleep to the fullest in the time I am provided with. My shoulders and neck would thank me, I am sure. Ah, if only I could get some sort of neck massage. I've never had one - I wonder if it would work . . . ?

So sleepy. But I don't want to go to sleep, for some reason. I don't want to go to bed. It appeals, and yet, something is keeping me from it, I can't puzzle out what. Perhaps because, if I sleep, my weekend will be that much shorter, will seem cut off in the middle and sped up to the end. I don't want that.

I could type up some Jane Eyre, but . . . eh, that deserves its own post. A poem? Hm. I could type one of my more recent ones. I think I wrote this last week, or so. This poem will be the end of this post, I've written quite enough for tonight, though I still want to ramble on. Dilemma, but nevertheless - read on.

FOG
Did he need to be so secluded?
So isolated he forgot that the sun
Had never disappeared.
Trapped in his own despair,
He lowered the clouds from the heavens
Surrounded himself with sorrow
So willingly, so freely.
He exiled himself in a cloudy day
And forgot.
The world, the love that he needed
Manifested when he closed his eyes
When he ignored, when he forgot.
The sun shone brighter on his soul
Trying to dissipate the fog.
It lost the struggle, faded
In the depression of his will -
Fell on empty thoughts
And forgot itself, the reason, and
The hope behind
His shaded eyes.
He exiled himself to cloudier days
To forget about the heart
He left behind,
To ignore his fracture world
In the clouds he willed to come
Below the sky, and fill
His empty night,
His empty world,
His empty life and emptier heart,
With fog.