Around Midnight on the 10th of January



I just want to be free.

Free from pain,

free from hate,

free from possibility,

free from myself.

I am chained to these thoughts as a ghost is to his earthly misdeeds,

and this mind of mine so weighs on me,

pulling ever so steadily upon my motivations

until even waking is a chore.

And yet, the sun still shines;

flowers still grow.

The songbird on my windowsill still sings out her praises each dawn.

From my cage of pretense I see the stars,

and through the darkness in this cell, my company is kept;

twinkling, and gently hopeful;

inspiring, yet not blinding

like daylight sometimes seems to be.

And if this heavy fog tires of my quiet agony

and leaves me for a moment,

blessed sleep may yet find me tonight.