Eyes rubicund and bleary, ears
resonating with a day’s worth
of corporate clamour and
the bullshit involved; feet tired
from standing up to it all,
I arrive home. Bed unmade,
purposely so, in hopes the comfort
last found in this sanctuary
remains with dreams contained
within the linen’s creases. Quilt
sewn with patches of humanity,
my true psyche lays latent in a
downy pillow’s indent, coming alive
only when I am prepared
to give up on anything hindering
peaceful presence. Frustrations
stripped off with my clothing, I
attempt to tuck in my sorted genius
long enough to allow
anything that matters
matter. Horizontally, blood
no longer rushing frantically,
languid breath, eyelids shut
preventing stray light
from staining my darkness, I
return to familiar, yet unknown,
treasures of a dormant state.
Until I wake, only to have to go
through this life, again.

© 2016 j.g. lewis


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