at times, I’m Lucid, and everything’s crystal Clear,
and I can see Things for what they are,
and Folks for whom they are,
and mine deep within My Mind
but, then, the Fog returns
and I’m lost,
so I can Breathe again.
I can’t stand the Sun – it’s too bright;
Love kills me – it’s too severe;
Honesty derides – it’s bossy, tough to bear
so I fudge and dodge and weave my way
through the Crowd of principles and contexts
and explanations and reasons and philosophical musings –
what’s Truth anyway? and to Whom does it Belong?
What does It matter, if I cannot Live?
How does it matter if I Do?
the Mist is dense so I get bored and go to sleep.
I hug the bed tight, pillows close to my chest
for Comfort, or Escape? I do not know, nor care:
I can Sleep – that’s all that matters;
and in my dream, in the hour just before dawn,
Clarity returns and I can See Everything, and Everyone.
I wake up screaming.
* * *