I’ve looked up at the sky,
I’ve looked out over the ocean,
but I’ve never been so low.
I’ve danced to the music,
I’ve sang along to the lyrics,
but I’ve never been so mute.
More black than a colour,
more numb than a feeling;
how can I act if I don’t know the character?
I’ve been lost in your eyes,
I’ve been awed by that dress you wear,
but now I can’t see past myself.
What now of this colour,
that clouds my world,
and blankets my future?
If I wake as the sun rises,
with the birds in song,
I am in control.
If this moment slips by, however
I’m in dream and sleep-in,
I am lost – know not where I should begin.
Lethargy cloaks me,
I’m dormant,
a shell of a man.
Rise with the sun,
like all other living things,
and I am on my way.
Give in to sleep,
like fever,
and I am far from present.
Every morning I debate myself,
an internal dialect on repeat,
“should I or shouldn’t I?”
I often convince myself the latter,
though the former I know to be right,
avoiding the inevitable journey that lay ahead.
I really should get up.
The afternoon sun,
is beaming through my window –
things are looking up.
It’s summer,
and I’m feeling alright,
because of this afternoon sun.
It’s leading me down a road,
I’ve never been down before,
yet I know I can trust.
For the afternoon sun,
like a blanket,
warm on a cold night.
There’s nothing better,
no other place I’d rather be,
can’t think of anywhere I need to be.
There is no conflict,
only peace,
a quite that can’t be disturbed.
The afternoon sun,
on a Sunday afternoon,
drifts me to sleep,
and I dream so sweet.
Lewis Walddren 