one day in the future they will come up with little pills and little bottles
to ‘cure’ this illness when it is not
even tangible
but something made of fibers
unseen to the eye
that set you off galloping
one day you sit quiet and rested in the sun
and just a little thing can start it all
the discrepancy of something said
the feeling of being on the outside looking in
a lie you cannot call someone out for
because they have more lies than you’ll ever
have room for
so you turn
without even thinking
second nature
and run in the opposite direction
shut down close off
never give them a second thought
it is the protection of the flower
who must open daily
and close when it is dark
she can be so sudden in her dismissal
it’s what she knows best of all
that feeling of nothing
that familiarity of naught
and if it happens they’ll eventually
call it an illness
but it’s no more sick than
stones who adapt to water
by becoming
heavier
to move
if I happen to
switch off and stop
I won’t be coming back
and it’s only the ones who
claim the deepest of my heart
whom I cannot stand to reject
who stay with me til the end
burrowed in my being
where few can ever find
entrance.
What was it about you?
let yourself right away in
demolished every rule, every tendency I had
an exception we bow asunder to
feathers gleaming against cold sunlight
TheFeatheredSleep 