The Nights Are Mine Alone

When I wake up to take my part
Of pressure, misery and sacrifice,
I soon realize that I cannot distinguish between
What is mine and what is not?

Is nature mine or just a vise
Used for squeezing out works
To fill the poet's infinite appetite?

Is happiness mine or is it just
Here to show the difference from discontent?

Is nothing mine?

Is my life my own or is it just
Another living example to display
Nature in all its glory

For even if I were to take my own life,
It would not be mine but rather a piece of the media
And an excuse for family and friends
To receive sympathy from strangers.

As my body lies down to rest
And my face moulds itself into the pillow,
I see in the quiet darkness that
The nights are mine alone.
For whatever else I have not,
The nights are mine alone.

Marla Lukofsky
Dec.17, 1974