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rest arrested

Waking up, staying still.  Too warm to move.  Close eyes, too early.

There is work yet to do, but nothing is too urgent.  Nothing as urgent as sleep.  No urge as strong.

Merely a pile of dirty dishes, dirty laundry, cluttered papers, cluttered problems.  Too much.

Eyes closed, black void is almost cheerful. 

Seconds tick by at the speed of hours. 

A glance at the clock, only twelve minutes have passed.

The state of rest is beyond all time.

All eternity collapses within two holy eyes.

Stories and possibilities parade on by, masquerading themselves as reality, reachable or realized.

Layers of stone and substance, dark and gray, pile upon each other with gruesome display.

Every angle is acute and obtuse and distance itself has dissolved.

Far is near and near is far, black is grey is marshlands and rocky hills.

Eyes flung open, light fills in the gaps.  Only two minutes.

The pressure within the skull or the pain of rising to work, it’s a query unanswerable.

It remains unanswered.


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