Mourning short poem

Photo by *~Dawn~*

I keep my eyes searching for the light under the shade.
Hear that? It bellows like the clock.

“Come to me,”
“It is time.”

Please understand that I can’t enter this grotto alone.
My experiences seem so few.
You can’t ask me to enter this state of latency.

“Enter my house,”
“You have a place at the table.”

Master, I am not hungry.
I once sipped the wine of the earth.
I have eaten the fruit of the valley.
But I will settle.

“I am not the Master,”
“I am the Stimulus.”

I understand my place here.
Must I explain myself?
Sensation buried in the dark.

“The bed is made,”
“Spotless and simple.”

Take me to the light.
Down I lay my head.


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