Sleep
Wearily
I feather into sleep
wooing my mind’s machinery
to cease its incessant whir.
I winnow down
to that senseless plunge
over the abyss
into oblivion.
With my dying breath
I consider
the sea of sleep
submarine depth
of other consciousness
the endless brain
free to navigate hidden channels
lacunas of slippery Truth.
I dream
and simultaneously
my dreams
both bind and set me free.
Such is Mystery.
Cynthia Buell Thomas
greatly altered and finally finished, October, 2013
Cynthia Buell Thomas
Tue 5th Nov 2013 12:07
Darren, I had never considered that - dropping the pronoun - divorcing the personal. I quite like it. Let me think.