I wrote this poem a few days ago, April 20, just as I was about to go to bed at around 1 in the afternoon. Not kidding. I couldn’t fall asleep. As I was dozing off, I heard a horn in the distance, like a horn from a port or a ship, which is odd since I don’t live near the sea. It might have been from a building nearby, I’m not quite sure. Now that I think about it, I cannot recall what it sounded like exactly. I don’t think I was dreaming though, anyways…sharing…
Horn in the Distance, by yours truly.
A horn blows in the distance,
yet I am nowhere near the sea.
Where I live,
no ships make port
and no sounds, such as what I heard
can ever be heard.
Yet there it is again,
the horn that blows in the distance.
I do not know if I am awake or asleep
and as I lay where I am,
the sound seems but a dream to me.
As if calling me.
The horn,
it is not an ordinary horn.
I do not think myself delusional
but it stops, then starts again,
as if calling my name.
I cannot awaken, nor can I fall into slumber.
Stuck, between consciousness and unconsciousness.
As if, as if it is pulling me.
With every word it makes,
calling to me, calling to my soul,
it beckons me nearer.
Slowly, I feel weary,
yet I no longer am.
It called to me,
I heard it and answered.
Do you hear it?
The horn that blows in the distance.
—
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