Half Life

As I drift off to sleep I hear voices
like a radio playing, softly
in another room
just below
the threshold of understanding

In the morning
the voices are gone.
There is no radio
playing anywhere in the house
and so I go
about my day

Each night I listen
but I can never, quite hear
to understand
and I cannot remember my dreams


This is written for the Sunday mini-prompt at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, where we have been asked to think and write about hearing voices.


16 thoughts on “Half Life

  1. Very much captures how I feel these days–the music I want to hear isn’t playing, and silence or even worse, puerile earworms, seem to be all that invades my brain. This has a great sense of wistfulness, Mary. Especially those last lines.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Mary, your nighty-night fairy is a tease. This is so frustrating, especially the not being able to remember dreams. Your narrative was just right for shoing that.
    I generally don’t hear things except for the ringing in my ears.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Sometimes a murmur is more than enough to write in the foggy ink of dreams. What do we know of those voices, anyway? For me, it’s just an act of attention — I try to listen, and by that trying, all sorts of dimensions get closer. A poem usually suffices for that attempt, and keeps the door cracked for more. You caught the near-but-far quality of voices at the threshold so well.

    Liked by 1 person

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