Man Made of Pills by Robert Allen

Once I was made of
blood and thought.
Now I am a man
made of pills.
8 soldiers
protect me;
tablets that make
the world simple.

Simple as a
maze or math.

Simple as pain
or a bruise.

Where do I stop and
pills start, what
is my true sensibility?
Only blood can tell.
I will wait for blood.

~*~

Biography:  Robert Allen lives and loves with his family in northern California, where he writes poetry, takes long walks, and looks at birds. 

Details at www.robertallenpoet.com

Insomnia; a Night of Reckoning by Robert Allen

Sleepless and hollow
I greet the dawn,
the sun burns hot in the hollow.
The day aches on until
sleepless I meet the night,
sleepless I meet the night,
head hollowed like open empty
palms,
a begging bowl, a dead balloon, a
broken heart.

~*~

Biography:  Robert Allen lives and loves with his family in northern California, where he writes poetry, takes long walks, and looks at birds.

Details at www.robertallenpoet.com