Far From Empty
Early in the morning, it is gray.
There is work to be done,
much of it, but for now,
it is still.
You need it, this stillness,
more than most.
You need the time to wake your broken brain
from its madness, its peripatetic dance of the night,
to move from strange dreams to stranger reality
And so you stand.
You stare into space.
Your eyes far from empty,
full, so full, too much there to even speak
for fear the madness, so carefully contained,
will refuse to leave,
refuse to go back to its dark cave for the day
like so many bats.
sleeping until night
when they fly wild and free,
just out of sight in the dark.
About this poem
I spend a lot of time thinking. Staring into space. Waiting for thoughts to settle so I can find the jewels worth saving. I wonder sometimes what people watching must think.