Poems about bed

I'm surrounded by stories that I haven't yet read
Stories of my childhood that I was read to in bed

Read to in bed,
Read to in bed

The pictures
The pages
Something to be said

The dragons and demons
All needing to be fed
The last final pages
Always leads to “The End”

There are no longer
Monsters under my bed.

The last time I saw it,
Was the last time
I held my milk bottle tightly
In my grips;
But it still left me.

The monsters under my bed
Packed and went away,
When I turned twelve
And turned off my nightlight.

The monsters,
Said goodbye to me,
As I stared at the ceiling
The night after my
First heartbreak

I miss the monsters
The ones hiding under my bed;
Every night,
As I turned off my lights,
I almost forgot about them

The part of my innocence.
The purity that went away.

A place of safety? he wonders
And i don't hesitate to answer.
Well my mother's bed
Something about it, i continue
The way the comforter never attaches to the foot
And the sheets wrinkle into folds of security
The smell as i breathe deep into the pillows
Unchanged no matter the location
Makes my tears subside little by little
Soaking up thoughts of regret
And provides a feeling no human could give
Well, besides my mother of course.
A feeling of overwhelming safety, all in my mother's empty bed

I've had the epiphany
Of all epiphanies

Persuasive tongues
Pleasure filled hours
Of memorizing the colors
Of your sheets
And how you sighed
In dim lighting;
Was all a scam

I felt love
Whilst you felt lust

Feeling love on my neck
Lust scratches all over your back

Now it's over though
My brain responded
To your pressures
Your eyes that only saw
Under my clothes

Yet you never wanted
To venture into
My undressed mind

It is exhausting to love something
Too far to touch

& like their body is made of glass
When you see it
You are afraid it will crack

But they insist on making you sore
They know what
You want & what you like

Even if it means risking their neck
Breaking tonight

& like you are a house of worship
For a quiet man
He has no name but loves

How you make it sound
On the base of your throat, redness

When you know he has cut you &
Gave you something only to
Take it away

As soon as you see how exhausting
Needing it is.

When he's gone
The bed needs another blanket to be warm.
Often even a heating pad on his side.

I could just set up two heating pads
And without us, the bed would make more sense.

Better than two crap machines.
And more clean.

Lights dim,
Sky grey, falling back into its peaceful slumber
Quiet house with an orchestra of the night playing outside the window
Pane
Cracked ever so slightly the world breathes its final breathes before dipping into steady sleep
Warm shower, accompanied with fresh scents
Warm sheets ruffled around you
Cocooned like a caterpillar before flight
Bed is where I belong.

When last I lay with you my Love-
Lay with you in your narrow bed
In your room, off campus, near the mall.
In your last semester of Pre- Med.

That day I'd helped you move your things
And after our feast of pie and beer
You were loathe to let me go
In your narrow bed you held me near.

Your hair was then a fiery red
Your milk white breasts had known no sun
I kept eye contact as I inclined
To worship Venus ever young...

I held you in your narrow bed
Hardness in softness intertwined
About a thousand kisses worth
Yes, the name you called was mine.

Sweating in a chilly room
Your landlord didn't give much heat
I held you then for the last time
Both knowing and not knowing that.

You moved away, we grew apart
I met the girl who'd be my wife
You had your practice in L. A.
We both got along with life.


Thirty winters passed me by
I heard that you were back in town
I hurried out to visit you.
To see your face for one last time.


Your brother met me at the door-
The one who used to be a priest
He led me to the open casket
Where your body lay at peace

Streaks of grey were in your hair
The strain of cancer marred you face
But though the battle had been lost
Were you not now in a better place?

Laid out in a pale blue dress
A rosary wrapped around your hands
If they were warm and capable-
Could they make me feel young again?

I left you, Ellen, one last time
Feeling overcome by tears
I clutched my coat against the cold
That reached for me across the years.