Sleepwalking

night journeys

Sleepwalking

Photo by Acton Crawford on Unsplash

Sleep comes when it does
For road map eyes
For a certain curve of lips
For a way of walking, where feet slide
Toes pointed to heaven.

This tiny catacomb is sanctuary
Where bedeviled, I fold myself
Into glittering jewels
Hard like diamonds 
Cold like January ice.

Hibernation, yellow and white with fog
Seduces ghostly reverie
Where as a towering oak
I find my way of walking, now,
With class and grace,
With dream weapons
And silver veils to hide my face.

There never was a crown
Chiseled with the dew
There was only a solemn going under
With tears of self forgetting
To bathe peace with a wandering soul. 
©2026 Stephanie M. Vargo