6/3/02

The room bathed in molasses, I lay
The common day speeding past
Fanciful dreams crawling by on hands and knees
The sheep, barely heard bleating, far out to pasture

Suddenly, a television in the sky
Blue light projected onto the ceiling
Onto me, into me
Firelight licks the white walls clean, and I watch

Still, frozen, I hear the low distant rumble of peace,
I smell the slow droplets of rainwater
The sky alive, I am captured
Imprisoned by the soft patter of tears on my window

Rumbles become the hateful screams of a god
Firing into my soul
Solitary tears become a deluge of sorrow
Shed by the dying, wishing they had lived their lives
Dancing light becomes the painful blaze
Of a white-hot migraine in the noonday sun

The god turns to whispers, the dying breathe their last,
The sun of high noon stumbles beyond the horizon
I drift away, my line cut
Rocked to sleep in the arms of the world