PLAY TIME

How can I sleep

When I have paraded myself so

Around and about a world

That wants only to see itself?

How can I give to the world

The picture that it needs to see?

Why do I even consider that the picture

Could in anyway be me?

Me with my own cross and suffering;

Me with my rituals and sins;

My God, too much life on the outside

Will drive the sensitive soul alone

To its own journey within.

Yet I am told that kind of thinking

Is narcissistic;

Meant for the superficial,

The rich and the crones

So I always return to the circus

To find the spotlight

Realizing that there is no rest

Till the final curtain

For the wicked and the weary

Flesh and bones.

2014.02.16.0200 ©