Warning, Warning,
'thought overload'
- or so says my mind,
as I stumble to come
to grips with their cries
as they're churning,
writhing, jostling for position.
Pick me, pick me, they scream
in discordant, restless,
disembodied voices.
Some calm, some frantic,
some tinged with fingers of ice.
No warmth will I find here.
'Discuss things amongst yourselves',
said I. The whispers can deal
with the shouting. The laughter
can deal with the sadness.
I am taking time out from me,
going to a place inside my head
where the sun shines through
a web covered, dusty window,
where my armchair is old,
faded with use, but solid.
I am taking time out for me,
where I'll sit amongst all
that is familiar and loving.
My place of peace, far from
the sound of their clarion calls.
A space where the silence is melodic
and beautiful in its absence,
where my feet rest upon
a footstool made of warmth.
The place where my soul takes flight,
where I can enjoy the peace
of just being...
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
