The Sleeping Philanthropist (v2)
Damn this dawn and damn all others like it:
though theft of nightly comfort comes in shade,
my eyes are skinned by fingers nailed with brightness;
a final hoist from dreamer’s last charade.
And damn the thoughts that squeeze in through the shutters.
And damn the constant hum that sounds each day.
And damn each morning’s metabolic fire
that heats then soaks the sheets on which I lay.
Below, outside, above and in my senses,
the crackle, drone and din of life pervades.
All that I am is lifted from Nirvana,
then dropped upon a pathway yet unpaved.
This way and that careering blind on dirt-tracks,
colliding now and then with friends once true
but now are only epitaphs on headstones;
The names are gone….worn down, worn out, worn through.
Must I be dragged into the light of reason?
Why can’t I hold here, anchored safe and calm?
Is there great need for me to walk among you,
administering blasé, useless balm?
I think not! Why then am I forced to leave here?
This is my solace, shelter and enclave.
In amniotic sheets I hide from living.
No soul required, hence no soul to save.
So damn this day that leads into the next day.
Sleep, take the present into darkest night;
where liquid blackness kisses and caresses;
unreal, perhaps, yet strangely apposite.
Damn all the quick and living for their fortunes,
for flaunting short-lived blessings in my view.
I shall not wake lest I should fall with envy
and rise no more to damn the rest of you.
tectak
Spring (Oh!Joy!) 2007
Damn this dawn and damn all others like it:
though theft of nightly comfort comes in shade,
my eyes are skinned by fingers nailed with brightness;
a final hoist from dreamer’s last charade.
And damn the thoughts that squeeze in through the shutters.
And damn the constant hum that sounds each day.
And damn each morning’s metabolic fire
that heats then soaks the sheets on which I lay.
Below, outside, above and in my senses,
the crackle, drone and din of life pervades.
All that I am is lifted from Nirvana,
then dropped upon a pathway yet unpaved.
This way and that careering blind on dirt-tracks,
colliding now and then with friends once true
but now are only epitaphs on headstones;
The names are gone….worn down, worn out, worn through.
Must I be dragged into the light of reason?
Why can’t I hold here, anchored safe and calm?
Is there great need for me to walk among you,
administering blasé, useless balm?
I think not! Why then am I forced to leave here?
This is my solace, shelter and enclave.
In amniotic sheets I hide from living.
No soul required, hence no soul to save.
So damn this day that leads into the next day.
Sleep, take the present into darkest night;
where liquid blackness kisses and caresses;
unreal, perhaps, yet strangely apposite.
Damn all the quick and living for their fortunes,
for flaunting short-lived blessings in my view.
I shall not wake lest I should fall with envy
and rise no more to damn the rest of you.
tectak
Spring (Oh!Joy!) 2007