Evening awakening

My room awakes in character
One soft murmur cuts my eyelids
That fissure like stone
Packed with thousands of chiropter

These winged ones - turned-up noses - patter
In splendid swarm and palpitates
Gilded - thousands glare of nuggets -
In this day that is decrepit

Some tipsy ones are looking to split my hairs
I see freedom surly then
I thought it served fresh forever

I open the freedom for the hazy voles
Who, before chasm, tone down a bit
The gust of wind which follows honours the burlesque

© IDDN 2005

My original poem is into verse