Pillow Talk

Late at night most are tucked in bed,
Warm and cozy amid layers of cotton comfort.
They dozily fall into the inviting arms of sleep,
Cradling them against the trials of consciousness.

What grace is granted to those dear fellows!
An escape from the perils of the overactive mind,
A mind deeply immersed, ensnared by pensiveness,
Self-induced chains, dragging sleep far out of reach.

Those poor fools, unable to let go of queries and doubts,
Fated to replay events already craved in stone time.
Yet not alone do these dear souls dwell in heaviest night,
A lone companion reached out a comforting feather hand.

Those dear pillows who listen to cries that shatter the night,
Absorbing the salty tears that trickle steadily down.
Embracing the blotchy, reddened faces of these tortured souls,
When their strong fronts finally crumbling to the ground.

What stories these pillows could tell, of the pain of humanity,
How it suffers and is tormented by love and worthless vanity.
What angst these pillows know, as teens break down and cry,
What anguish is felt, by those feel too tired to keep trying more.

When a parent losses a child, the pillow talk is there,
When a relationship is foiled, again the pillow muffs despair.
When pity fights or great battles have raged during the fallen day,
The pillow is there to salvage the wreckage of the wounded.

I find myself unable to sleep, and plagued by nightmares when I do,
So my pillow and I have had many long conversations.
My pillow remains to this day, my perfect confident,
Because only it knows that I am not as strong as I pretend to be.