Tingle
My eyes tingle,
Heavy with the weight of the day.
Heavy with the palm of pills I take to surrender thought.
My mind is busy.
It races through.
It finds love with which it can’t find success.
My eyes are heavy.
Maybe they too are surrendering,
For chemistry is far too strong.
Usually sleep is week.
My fingers are not cooperating,
the doorman to unconscious control the gilded gates,
he so often holds me back.
Dick.
But let me soon.
From topic to topic my brain is restless.
Targeted for?
It remains elusive.
Is this quality?
Is this trash?
For whom does this text toll?
Each day, a step.
So long as we are moving,
For when don’t communicate our emotions, inside I die.
I have for far too long.
The sky tears open and rain gushes through.
They never tell you how much work it is.
They never tell you the hoops through which to jump.
The sky is a royal blue and this merciless week has, at last,
Returned to its lair.
It will survive.
But it will thrash out again.
We will have days of torment, turmoil and terror.
Yet on magical days the energy of man smiles upon us.
In those moments we are whole.
We are strong.
And there is nothing that will stand in our way.
But now, the little friends fog my vision and loose my place.
They craze my fingers and numb my toes.
They are friends, family and the invaders of evil.
They aid me in healing.
They help me with the wounds of the day.
I will shine.
We will be strong.
But for now the tingle takes me away.
Copyright © Robert Masterson | Year Posted 2012
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