Untitled Poem

*Here is a poem I wrote last night before I went to bed. I was trying to sleep in my living room and I became inspired by the people in the apartment above me talking and I could hear it through my screen door. -- Adam Benson

Untitled


I try to fall asleep,
being rocked by the hum and buzz
of the electrics in my kitchen,
when I hear the voices of strangers.
They seep in the window
and invade my peace
like the catching up of family
outside the door of an old, dying man.
The talk of nephews and new grandchildren
glides past like the appearance of shadows
against the light shining through the crack underneath the door.
Finally, he requests the lone family member in the room with him,
sitting quietly,
to leave and join the chatter of the rest of the family
and now he is alone.
Blood pulsates in his brain
like knocking on a great oaken door
with rounded, brass door knockers.
His breathing becomes rhythmic and slow
and soon he falls asleep.
And I dream.