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Tonight I feel both a profound quiet, and a profound disquiet. The night air is warm, even as snow lies on the ground outside slowly yielding under pressure of the temperature to become a wintery sludge. I sat in my rocking chair and read of beauty, and wanted to out in that quiet warmth--even so I could not stir myself to do so. The first few spatters of rain hit against the windows. Archimedes looked apprehensive with wide golden eyes and ears tuned to the front. Soon the storm was upon us, and is upon us even now. The rain tonight hurtles, not falls. Tomorrow all will be ice, and I will wake on a cold grey morning before my time and have to make the journey to school in the icy cold.
I wear a borrowed shirt of maroon. I do not know whose it is, but it was here and my arms were beginning to prickle with the cold.
Everyone in this house is at odds with one another, waging a silent war, our tongues sharp in our heads, our weapons drawn and covered with cloth to conceal our poisoned barbs. In my mouth I tell my father we all lose things. In my head I tell him he has lost the family. In my mouth I stay silent, In my head I tell him he does not live here anymore. Instead of crickets, we have pounding rain. Rain that gives our windows ache.
I am tired in my eyes, and in my very head.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
For the time is early yet
And the time is early still
And I have a lot of work
But I have none of the will
I am tired in my eyes, my eyelids feel of lead.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
And my heart is still as stone
And my mind a great glass lake
Both are cool and calm
But both can swiftly break
I am tired in my eyes, when I blink it turns to red.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
For the storm is fast outside
There is no rest to be felt
I will lie awake and sigh
While the damage swift is dealt
I am tired in my eyes, and in my very head.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
I am tired in my eyes, and in my very head.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
The rain beats down still. I am sure my calm is a product of unrest, the way evil is birthed from good. Perhaps I experience merely inaction.
Whatever it is, I do not like it very much. Passively.
I wear a borrowed shirt of maroon. I do not know whose it is, but it was here and my arms were beginning to prickle with the cold.
Everyone in this house is at odds with one another, waging a silent war, our tongues sharp in our heads, our weapons drawn and covered with cloth to conceal our poisoned barbs. In my mouth I tell my father we all lose things. In my head I tell him he has lost the family. In my mouth I stay silent, In my head I tell him he does not live here anymore. Instead of crickets, we have pounding rain. Rain that gives our windows ache.
I am tired in my eyes, and in my very head.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
For the time is early yet
And the time is early still
And I have a lot of work
But I have none of the will
I am tired in my eyes, my eyelids feel of lead.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
And my heart is still as stone
And my mind a great glass lake
Both are cool and calm
But both can swiftly break
I am tired in my eyes, when I blink it turns to red.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
For the storm is fast outside
There is no rest to be felt
I will lie awake and sigh
While the damage swift is dealt
I am tired in my eyes, and in my very head.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
I am tired in my eyes, and in my very head.
I am tired in my soul, but I will not go to bed.
The rain beats down still. I am sure my calm is a product of unrest, the way evil is birthed from good. Perhaps I experience merely inaction.
Whatever it is, I do not like it very much. Passively.
