Memoir of a Forgotten Glee

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling above,
It was not but a ceiling but a beautiful cove,
There rest all my life, my love,
The night before me seems to have drove away,
and suddenly night turns to day,
and I pray again to see another day,
glad not to see it yet any other way.
I've got this sweet little obsession you see,
You count two pennys, but I count three,
The sweet unorderly compulsion brings me great glee,
Which is why I write this story, I now present to thee.
Night comes again, and moreso turns into day,
I love it you see,
because the night time takes all my fears away.
All I see is a ceiling and through the window a tree,
and suddenly I get this great feeling of everlasting glee.
But then, the glee turns into a big pain in my chest,
and sudenly I feel the need to take a rest,
so I lay my head upon my pillow trying to sooth the pain,
When suddenly I hear a whistling; a train,
I fall asleep, and I wake up the next day,
and a thin strip of black has crossed upon where I lay,
Never again, will I ever want to hit the "hay".
So I decide to check the sheets; feel the spot,
To feel if it was wet, or filled with rot,
it came off onto my hands, wet and slimy,
and I screamed to the world, "OH BLIMEY!".
It was not blood, it was black,
and it enveloped my eyes, turned me back,
suddenly I was crying again,
in my mothers lap.
(Haven't done poetry in a while, so I kinda winged it. LOL, BTW my favorite poets are Robert Frost, and Shakesphere)
It was not but a ceiling but a beautiful cove,
There rest all my life, my love,
The night before me seems to have drove away,
and suddenly night turns to day,
and I pray again to see another day,
glad not to see it yet any other way.
I've got this sweet little obsession you see,
You count two pennys, but I count three,
The sweet unorderly compulsion brings me great glee,
Which is why I write this story, I now present to thee.
Night comes again, and moreso turns into day,
I love it you see,
because the night time takes all my fears away.
All I see is a ceiling and through the window a tree,
and suddenly I get this great feeling of everlasting glee.
But then, the glee turns into a big pain in my chest,
and sudenly I feel the need to take a rest,
so I lay my head upon my pillow trying to sooth the pain,
When suddenly I hear a whistling; a train,
I fall asleep, and I wake up the next day,
and a thin strip of black has crossed upon where I lay,
Never again, will I ever want to hit the "hay".
So I decide to check the sheets; feel the spot,
To feel if it was wet, or filled with rot,
it came off onto my hands, wet and slimy,
and I screamed to the world, "OH BLIMEY!".
It was not blood, it was black,
and it enveloped my eyes, turned me back,
suddenly I was crying again,
in my mothers lap.
(Haven't done poetry in a while, so I kinda winged it. LOL, BTW my favorite poets are Robert Frost, and Shakesphere)