I need to let my mind unfold,
it’s time to sleep, before I get old,
and tired of these looping thoughts,
that track me while I wake.
When I’m awake,
I feel this aching in my bones,
At the intersection of a forward/back direction –
my hands seem to unfold.
Is my mind in my hands, instead?
And is this soreness in my head,
just the emptiness of thought?
If only I could be empty of thought.
Writing has branded me now,
An undeniable part of my anatomy.
The third finger of my right hand,
so often demands the touch of it’s friend
(named pen, or sometimes,
devil tool that won’t let me rest!)
Let me sleep, minded-hands.
I want to be my best.
Let me rest, thought fingers,
so my mind can linger
along the lines of my hands,
unfolding, not moving, blending with the skin
that you have changed.
Let me rest, nailed ponderings,
in sleep and comfort.
Let my mind unfold,
into that soft soul-hold
of a delicate artists slumber,
before the thought-thunder
Begins again, tomorrow.
Before I forget, to remember,
how much you need to be held,
in a soft-soul slumber.