The Trap


From night to day, a time when darkness comes with morning tea.
No sympathy – just tea and unwashed cups
And debris from having lived the last day.

And a day to remove the debris ready for tomorrow
Stretches till evening when the cycle ends
With night – and then a day.
Sometimes the circle breaks or wanders.

Sometimes we make it so inside our heads.
Most often it is a steel net which follows us
Even in sleep. Starting from the medulla,
Around the cortex, tighter, hurting, fearsome.

Till we can wake and smoke or walk about
And force the tensions back into the cellars
Of the brain, till next time they escape.

For now, we take a pill and read awhile
So we can sleep and have the morning quickly.
To wake with morning tea and unwashed cups
And debris, from having lived the last day.

“Here, Now!! This moment is all,” they say.
If this is all then all is nothingness
And the pit must grow, its edges crawling more and more
Into our fearful awareness of the present void.

© EGB

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