|
| |
The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters - Etching by Francisco Goya
we are scratches on the surface
somehow imprinting page to page
degrading as we move frame
by frame
until we slump
with the inky weight
of filling in the detail of ourselves
we obscure into blackness
just outline and shading hinting at yesterday
wholly aware of our emptiness
beneath the grey evidence
of our existence
as reality snaps to something more real
the rest of the room has claws
we hide our eyes
try to think it through
beset by waking dream
as we etch our nightmares
surrounding ourselves with inner torment
for more of it to fly in on its own
given life by our hand
what if I sat up
waved my arms
didn't turn my back
or imagine the worst
I may sit
as the only soul in this room
perfectly safe
waiting for blinding daylight
to stop me
casting shadows
Copyright ©
Di11y Da11y
|
|