Such light flooded beauty
Such broad frigid darkness
But if at the threshold, can't we find a bland calm?
and such small humble quiet
such splendorous crescendoes
But if at the threshold, don’t we leak half-spoken psalms?
Or will the world always beckon from on defined side
and must I always lie in the darkness to wait for the light?
The light of day or of glad heart and mind or just any kind, merciful beacon
like waking from time passed so easily by sleeping

But this wakeful mind can project its own beam
It's a sorry spotlight on the ticking time stream
Wrists and walls full of clocks always reminding me to count moments and deeds like a coin currency
And I'm so broke, so spent, yet wakeful
Embarrassed to be bored
Why can't somersault I inward towards those pastures of gold?

I thought we had just two earth's for irises, and a conscious light that shines through projecting this world onto nothingness...
they said, "retreat from the dark world, into that light. Such a vast, such a patiently obvious timelessness!"

But my eyes are aging with each menacing tick
and more so without sleep, these bloodshot webs are woven so thick
And this world is dying, and for it I'm lovesick
Bu then I must have dozed off
Because I woke to write this.