A Motion Lying Still

Asleep on the sand with the sun taking flight
A crusade against darkness, a war on the night.
It’s powering upwards, scorching and cursed,
I’m drying and wrinkled, dying of thirst.

A dream of the senses, I wake and I stir.
My head swirling backwards with thoughts in a blur.
Naked and cold, huddled and blind.
The sun touches nothing, it’s darkness I find.

Alone as I think, in a bed never warm,
In a house never more than pillar of scorn.
I swing and I stir from the false to the real
Is it sand and the salt or the bed that I feel?

Whatever it is, whatever it be,
The outcome of knowing is hollow to me
If sand, then unstable, if salt, then it burns,
And cold is the feeling this mattress returns.

Alone is the living, afraid is word
For it simmers inside of me, fear to be heard.
I’m deaf to the sunlight and blind to the heat
While I’m drifting through silence in torment complete.