Prickly rock in throat,
5:20am, thin drowsy air.
I can see three cats playing.

Moist eyes recognise,
this is the calmest felt
in 27 days.

The night was my place in this world
A place where i feel at peace, unfurled
And not in pieces
But whole, like Paganini's caprices

Walking down the streets
I heard the passing wind
Roaring through lanes a many
Without people in them any

Dogs barked
And cats growled
In the distance i heard foxes howl
For this was a symphony In the dark

The full moon shined bright
For this was a glorious night
It wore its scars of astronomical bombardment, proudly
For it stood through those times stoutly

I walked by a watchman half asleep
Snoring away into the darkness
Counting sheep
Unappreciative of the starless night sky

I walked the walk
As many talk the talk
For I
Couldn't get over that late night high

Passing by a park
Deserted in the dark
I sat on a swing
Moon-flowers blooming, more awe inspiring than anything

As boring as it may have seemed
This was, for me
Even though many may disagree
This is the dream

looking down at the barren ground
Listening to the grasshoppers chirp
Was when i had a realization, profound

Life was a cycle of calm and dismay
And the night;
Is like a zayas
To balance out the chaos
That of the day

It’s only thing that brings me back to my truest self,
the self that only the wild air , trees and inhabitants know
Its spirit meshes with mine and I am whole.

Making up a mind like yours,

so different from mine that I cannot
imagine being you,

I live in words lifted from pages, not
these sigils of sounds
that whistle when I say them

in shibolet-art-chek stich uations

is art, intuitive  or drunken ravings of stron drink mocking

peace at the ultimate price ever imagined,

paid.
This is after that. Mind games that you can play
at seventy-two,

you may safely teach your children,
but they won't listen, so
you teach their children.

The anxieties of life, of self-worth, of good health,
Do overwork the mind, to rather grave lengths.

Set in overdrive, your fears, your failures, and your stress,
Yet, too blind to realise, to pause, to confess,

Your extensive efforts, to please, to cater to and satisfy the rest,
'Til, you sit down, grasp and digest life's one true test:

"To set aside, your worries, archive them on a shelf,
To set aside the time, to make it nice, for Yourself."

Tormented by the voices
That rattle against my head.
The whirlwind, spinning, and twisting my thoughts.

The outside a picture of perfect calm
Perfectly happy
Smile and nod