{"id":3942,"date":"2014-05-13T00:03:52","date_gmt":"2014-05-13T05:03:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/pathoftreasure.wordpress.com\/?p=3942"},"modified":"2014-05-13T00:03:52","modified_gmt":"2014-05-13T05:03:52","slug":"ready-to-sleep-a-poem","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/prasantaverma.com\/index.php\/2014\/05\/13\/ready-to-sleep-a-poem\/","title":{"rendered":"Ready to Sleep {a poem}"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter wp-image-3099 size-large lazyload\" data-src=\"http:\/\/pathoftreasure.files.wordpress.com\/2012\/05\/fragrant-bushes-009.jpg?w=640\" alt=\"Fragrant Bushes 009\" width=\"640\" height=\"480\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAAAAACH5BAEKAAEALAAAAAABAAEAAAICTAEAOw==\" style=\"--smush-placeholder-width: 640px; --smush-placeholder-aspect-ratio: 640\/480;\" \/><\/p>\n<p>Ready to Sleep<\/p>\n<p>At the crack of first morning, the sun bleeds through<br \/>\nholes in blinds, like a laser, hits my eyes.<br \/>\nWincing, I rise, smooth down hair, straighten covers,<br \/>\nstumble on wilted feet.<\/p>\n<p>I am small; the world is looming.<br \/>\nI am old; the day is young.<br \/>\nThe morning is yellow, and my hair is gray.<br \/>\nThe world is green and blushing pink Spring.<\/p>\n<p>I spill the coffee, pooling liquid mud on vinyl.<br \/>\nI miss the bacon, the red days. I\u2019d make hot oatmeal,<br \/>\nor cream of wheat, when it was still dark outside.<br \/>\nThey\u2019d grab their lunches and be off. I didn\u2019t know<br \/>\nthat morning would be so short.<br \/>\nIt was so short, that morning.<\/p>\n<p>How could night have come so quickly? I was barely awake,<br \/>\njust opening my eyes to the sun.<br \/>\nI hear them now, their footsteps like the rain.<br \/>\nI see them down the hall, in their beds, in the yard,<br \/>\npetals unfurling to the light.<\/p>\n<p>I hug the covers a bit tighter, I walk a bit slower,<br \/>\nI remember the past instead of dream what is to come\u2014<br \/>\nWhen did thoughts go backward? When does time shift?<\/p>\n<p>They are running, chasing their own futures,<br \/>\ndancing under the clouds. I can hear them<br \/>\nwhen I open the windows and listen to the wind.<\/p>\n<p>And I\u2026 \u00a0I no longer need coffee.<br \/>\nI no longer need the sun.<br \/>\nI wrap myself under the covers;<br \/>\nI am ready to sleep,<br \/>\nready<br \/>\nto<br \/>\nsleep.<\/p>\n<p>***<\/p>\n<h6>Linking with #<a href=\"http:\/\/www.emilywierenga.com\/\">Imperfect Prose<\/a><\/h6>\n<p><a title=\"Imperfect Prose\" href=\"http:\/\/www.emilywierenga.com\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><img decoding=\"async\" data-src=\"https:\/\/lh5.googleusercontent.com\/-3s5KmhxpIYU\/T4Inziu4R4I\/AAAAAAAAENk\/LTq221viFVc\/s144\/imperfectprose.jpg\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAAAAACH5BAEKAAEALAAAAAABAAEAAAICTAEAOw==\" class=\"lazyload\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Ready to Sleep At the crack of first morning, the sun bleeds through holes in blinds, like a laser, hits my eyes. Wincing, I rise, smooth down hair, straighten covers, stumble on wilted feet. I am small; the world is looming. I am old; the day is young. The morning is yellow, and my hair [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[38,57,114,206,218],"tags":[530,661,904],"class_list":["post-3942","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-death","category-family","category-journey","category-spring","category-time","tag-growing-old","tag-life","tag-seasons"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.3 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Ready to Sleep {a poem} - Prasanta Verma<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/prasantaverma.com\/index.php\/2014\/05\/13\/ready-to-sleep-a-poem\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Ready to Sleep {a poem} - Prasanta Verma\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Ready to Sleep At the crack of first morning, the sun bleeds through holes in blinds, like a laser, hits my eyes. Wincing, I rise, smooth down hair, straighten covers, stumble on wilted feet. I am small; the world is looming. I am old; the day is young. 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