Piker Press — Weekly Journal of Arts and Literature
April 27, 2026

Restless

"...I had no voice to call your name..."

Restless

I dreamt I walked your trail,
weaving through an endless arrangement
of loops and swirls made of quartz
as the sunset burst orange rays across
the fading sky until the blindness of dark
swallowed the world.

Lost and alone, everything unfamiliar,
I had no voice to call your name.
My open mouth a soundless gape
with the echo of my thoughts
strangling the trees with feedback.

I awoke to a viole(n)t dawn,
my skin drenched in anxiety,
eyes hazy with exhaustion
looking for a way back to you,
and the winding path.






More by Aleathia Drehmer → More poetry → Full issue →
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Reader Comments
1 Reader Comment
Teresa Haight
12/29/2021
07:26:09 AM
Very nice poem!
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