Brooding

That is a song to sleep to
If only I could quiet the mimes in my mind
To sink, deep, into an Elysium dream
But the worrisome gnats still bite at my insides
Begging me play, come spit in the face of harmony
But naught can be gained through this discouragement

And still the harp does call me to sleep
For the imagination is weary, worn taught by disregard
To die, disappear, into yesterday and bygone eras
Dismiss all that has made me who I am
Forget the bile of hell from which we all ascended
But we are strong through the foundation of will and sacrifice

The song does wane in its quiet refrain
For I cannot escape the sinister sleepers creeping
To ravage, cloying, my history from its roots
Demanding I repent for deeds that bought their freedom
Destroy myself for their righteous, pious, entitlement?
It is unbecoming, for I am history manifest destined to survive

The harpist has fallen asleep
And now the mind is quiet for a time
To reflect, discover, that this player is once upon a time me
Innocent, eager, and ripe for change, for growth
If but they would listen to wisdoms teachings ignoring vanity
Giving one small hope to acceptance and health of unity, of peace

RRG © 7.9.20

While visiting Julies Caesar a while ago, I lay in bed writing this poem after it was done. Brutus sitting in his bed while a boy plays the harp is the inspiration. An uncomfortable conscience, a man facing consequences for the decisions he has made, and Shakespeare at his best. I hope you like this poem and the video I made to go with it. Hugs and blessings friends. <3 Rebecca