Monday, March 29, 2010

I will dream, with, or without sleep.

This night time silence.

The night is a passionate silent coma.
It's trepidation forces me to do something, anything.

It's intoxication
well, I can't truly feel or
understand it's lacking in my
[non]productive life.

But somehow it champions
my thoughts,
and it tills my
mind, a slow somber sheet.

Running home to twilight
is often times a robbery to me.

When daytime exists, I
am a prisoner inside
modern American
Concentration Camps.

No gas chambers here,
rather, anxiety and lies,
'To survive... to survive..."

A passionate coma. Alive but asleep.
Such a tempting idea,
but without any reward.
or so i think.

The light clouds above appear to me,
to be the exhaust of a thousand smokers
from the previous nighttime charades.

I'll go this way,
and you somehow always
go that way.
Where is home? And
where is our unity?!

Where do I sleep in our
innocent bed
so that I can actually
sleep righteously tonight.

This damn fear,
is a demon, it's so alive.

And considerate love,
my dearest sweetness,
wake me up!
wake up the unsound mind
and drown it's terse, violent
and rampant mindlessness.

This is the only time (WE) have.
I fear it will only last seconds when I am gone
and when I can finally understand:
that life is a dance with God.

::I wrote this a couple months ago, while holding a job that lasted till the late late hours of the night, where when i got home, the sun was beginning to rise. I found myself rich with emotion, mostly melancholy and fatigued. But I knew something was beyond my emotions, i knew i must wake up.::