restlessness

The Visitors

Drifting uneasily between sleep and insomnia,

I assume various positions of repose:

Unborn child; cross-palmed saint; starfish; road kill.

In dawn's early light I see my failures and fears

Assembled before me, cloaked in grey silence.

I try not to look. I cover my head.

At length, the morning sun pushes these apparitions

Against the wall, then under the door and out of the room.

Bleary-eyed, I throw back the covers

And prepare to meet another day head-on.


Copyright © Robert Haigh 2011

 

 


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Insomnia

Folder: 
Just For Fun

With night comes thoughts into my mind

Philosophically broad and deep

Why do I sit here counting fireflies

When I should be fast asleep?

 

What if Atlas shrugged

And Prometheus lied?

Enkidu lived

And Gilgamesh died?

Horus instead had been fried?

Anubis a coward who'd always hide?

 

What if we're all dead inside

And stay that way because of pride?

 

What is the difference between apples and oranges?

Why are patients so afraid of syringes?

Why must something go up, and then down

Why do the wealthy always seem to frown?

 

What I'm trying to say

I must protest

Whilst I stutter

And give it my best

That life is all-in-all a test

To live or die beyond our rest

 

Rest, rest, I wish I could

And if I could, I surely would

Some peace and quiet, I must confess

Would surely give this brain a rest

Anxiety pill

Clocks slow to a crawl time creeps it's deceit 

Some days lack ambition no spring in my seat

Pounding heart sure to cave won't endure it's fatigued

Need mighty endowment strength stability proceed

 

This pen hits the paper racing heart slowly calms

I believe in my words the sweat dries from my palms

Trembling hands quieten be sturdy as steel

I take a deep breath... Now to enjoy how I feel

Shane Aaron

Dec 7 2013

Absent Flashes

There were no flashes in the shroud;
not of Turin, but of sound, and light,
and restless colors that weren't.
Though they could, they hadn't then,
and wouldn't for the evening, no matter
what we'd do to provoke them and their ire.
We spoke in idle, but idle things... Somehow would,
in spite of us, build a fanged momentum, and
occasionally bowl us over when we feigned
disinterest. They only fed on funny bits of
insight, or "insight", or relevance found
completely on the spot. And even still,
they'd be picky, they'd be prudish; they'd
be snide. Denied by time, our Father,
not a God but a thing, the only true king;
somehow absent of any mercy for you,
for me -- for anything, ever, anywhere.
So they strove to fascinate and leave;
bitter at the funny way of things,
the general disinterest of the world at large,
and the fact that they lacked the presence
to do anything more than luster in the air,
or frighten people in the passing dark.

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Somehow

Folder: 
Christianity

There's a shadow sometimes
in the back of my mind
that keeps me from seeing You clearly
but what is a shadow
but the lack of some good thing,
the missing wholeness of life?

There's a veil sometimes
before my eyes, and
I don't always see things completely
but what a hope I have
to hope in You,
who opens the eyes of the blind.

Sometimes there's a cloud or mist
that mutes the color in this world
and shadows the river in my soul
but You our my ethereal Light,
and this liberates me.

You are the source of every ray of light
and You see right through me.
Adonai, I can hide nothing from You, no not ever.
Abba, I'm just dead without Your love and grace.

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