Saturday, March 2, 2019

Tattletale ~ Saturday, 2 March 2019

All I want is to sleep, the ascent into dreams,
like climbing a staircase and opening a door,
little does it matter what happens afterwards,

I enter inside a room, I listen for the screams, 

when I was a small boy, I toyed with an idea, 
as with any idea, I filed it in a drawer, 
nothing escaped my eyes, I even saw backwards, 
to attend to details, and to turn a blind eye 

if I saw anything out of place, eureka, 
something clicked in my brain, I learned about trouble, 

trouble is a witness to some event gone wrong, 
on a cold winter night, I overheard a lie, 

someone who bears witness to a crime sees double, 
leaping out of my skull, a bird singing a song, 
eventually the truth came out, I heard the screams, 
even if I could sleep, the bird that sings counts sheep, 
pleased to weep, I preferred the ascent into dreams.

The ascent into dreams, as I climb a staircase, 
how many steps to count before I fall asleep, 
enter a tiny room and hide inside a vase, 

ascent to the summit of a mountain, a space 
simply beyond my dreams, unbelievably steep,
climbing up a mountain, as I climb a staircase,

enter inside a vase, to hide without a trace, 
nobody can find me, I hide without a peep, 
trouble, am I to blame, I hide inside a vase, 

if nobody finds me, a moment of God's grace, 
nothing to do in here, in a vase, I count sheep  
to enter dreams, I hide, as I climb a staircase, 

only the air up here is fine and rare, this place 
draws upon energy, my resources, I keep 
ready, as when a child, I hide inside a vase, 

exactly as a child in trouble finds a base, 
a place to hide, hideout, hideaway, as I weep, 
my tears fall silently, I hide inside a vase, 
still, silent, unto death, as I climb a staircase. 

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