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Sometimes
Folder:
A Yellow Sunshine Night
Sometimes the dragons are inside
and even as we fight them,
we have already lost.
Sometimes the wind blows
and even before we feel it,
already we are cold.
In aging, black and white
becomes blurred.
Grey we see and grey we feel.
Demons prance around us
and we pretend that they
are not of our own creation.
We cringe in horror
that such evils have befallen
upon us.
We laugh at danger,
yet scream in terror
at our endless platitudes.
Sometimes the liquid
in the bottle
is truly poison for us.
Yet we drink it anyway,
believing somehow
we can escape.
Our sense of trust
is often determined by
our submission to our egos.
Sometimes we hear voices
and yet we successfully
block out the vowels.
Sometimes the fear is not
of the unknown, but of what
we already have lived.
