I crawled underneath my covers
Just as birds heralded another rotation of this world
Premonitions that should weigh no more than feathers
Are the hardest, heaviest of masters
"The tyranny of the shoulds,"
Bending my body and soul
Soul and body, no dualism here,
Upon my sheets like a vice
Perhaps I may yet wring a drop of wisdom out of the down
"I am who the Lord has made me."
Mantras to wash my trembling mind in truths
Too bland, too dense for me to palate.
Words do not breathe deeply upon my chest
Ideas are not soft upon my skin
The weights of balancing paradox, treading the gray,
Scrambling to hold both story and reality in my embrace...
Warmth is found in your flesh, flushed with life
And the ever haunting holy ghost.
Visions, thus, not so easily forgotten.
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