The Beauty Sleep

The Beauty Sleep short poem

Photo by Jannis_V

In the psychiatric hospital, angels have fever blisters
because of too much powdered milk, swollen still hot
from soft plastic cups
as pink as their fingernails lacking calcium,

Their wings hidden under dressing gowns made of felt,
they grow beyond measure
when the night shift nurses knit in their room.
If you look carefully into those neon-like eyes
white and hot like milk of lime,
you can see a window opening and closing
from time to time
or the door locking the rooms for agitated patients

They are always on the door sill,
they’re the only angels resembling gingerbread men.
Adorned with sugar pearls
they have long weak legs,
they grow day and night
like ivy on the ground where it cannot find,
neither walls nor trees to climb up

Sometimes I wonder how long has it been,
since they did not fall asleep.

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I am from Romania, I write poems and haiku and sometimes I translate them into English. My poems and haiku were published in various e-zines or poetry journals and magazines in print in Romania or abroad. Poetry is for me like champagne poured in a mug. I discovered this site and I can say that I found many good poems here.
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2 Comments on "The Beauty Sleep"

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@cristina-monica_moldoveanu, the truth in your writing is only softened by the euphemism you employed. The depth only fathomed by those who could see through the tranquil water surface. Fascinating.

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