Member-only story
What Tortured Worlds
Betray my sleeping eyes
That thrusts my body into day.
Go. Stay Away —
Those nameless worries
will not yield their insights.
They are the body’s workings.
Remember you
of work that awaits.
And so arise
stumble into morning.
See dawn’s lips alight the sky.
Pushing night’s shadows
into puddles on the floor.
Untangle your dread
let it lay fallow
in fields of untilled dreams.
You have work to do.
Scrape old paint
let their chips fly.
Sweep up the remnants
that feather the deck.
Work relieves the mind
from sorrow left behind.
Bag it up with the brittle leaves’
growth of last year’s season.
And what of play
Those fleeting visions
framed and glittering?
Parched senses absorb them
like fragrant rain
nourishing buds that survived
a lifetime of drought.
Phantom clouds of doubt
can’t muster the energy
to trip the wisdom of a warm bed
beside a drowsing bedfellow.
Mark the perimeters of this day’s life.
Snuggle near the beating heart
of a treasured spouse.
Creep back to bed
rest these eyes.
Time’s vigil rests gentle
through the roar of silence.
I’ve been waking up at false dawn feeling like I’ve been on a forced march. No accelerated heart rate or night terrors. My body is insisting that I experience 4:30 to 6:30 am. I plan my day and go back to bed, sleeping like a rock until 9:00am.
