My eyes flick over the textured ceiling,
connecting dots and making patterns
that morph into a giant Rorschach test.
I want to surrender to cliché
and tell myself that if
I can just get through the night
that tomorrow will be different,
that everything will be fine in the morning,
but I know that the dawn rarely brings salvation.
I close my eyes instead and listen
to the sounds of owls awakening,
asking questions that have no answers.
Christopher Chaffin’s poems have appeared in print journals and online anthologies. Chris enjoys reading written work of varied genres and loves workshopping his own ideas with other writers. He is too clumsy to be a dancer, so he aspires to be a poet instead.