Even the smallest light can be seen in the darkness.
The sky leans on me and it is heavy. I long for the night so I can spread the mass of dark across my prone body. I lie down and sleep under my weighty blanket – my light covered and snuffed.
I’m happy to be alive but the burden of carrying the air, moving the air, supporting the clouds is a severe responsibility. I am serious about it and never think about other things like fun and laughter, both of which jiggle and whorl my world and tilt it sideways.
Eyes down. Feet firm for balance. No spilling allowed. Cry over spilt atmosphere. The sky can’t go back into the cup once out.
The night’s receiving blanket torn to shreds with the dawn. No longer able to hold the baby of innocence.
No comments:
Post a Comment