A Sheet Pulled Back
I read from Life
that scary is death,
yet more fright there is
in loving both sadness and joy,
and still I sit with my toes tucked
Beneath the sheets of my bed,
Things I’ve said, doings of bliss:
Have wrought my soul rusty-red.
My harbinger is my mind, and unto me
Revelations come quick and lose fast;
but I hold faithfully to myself,
For deep in this barbed wire brain
is oil and repair by hands gloved white
from bright blue cloud-skies above,
Where reigns an unknown domain.