I hear birds announce their presence and call to others requesting conference on the days foraging and possible mating. The sun’s white gold forces its way through the cracks of my windows guard. My window is slightly ajar and the smell of spring encroaches my room. The metallic aroma of pollen, new flora and freshly turned humus hover as I lay still.

It’s beautiful.

Yet I slumber. I disregard the beauty of the morn. I will not rise to meet my day. I delay its start. I stuff my ears with cotton to no longer hear the chatting fowl. Draw my head into the folds of cool linen. The suns false gold is lost on my hidden eye.

If I rise, I must submit membership of existence and all it implies. Duties, obligation, daunting responsibility and expectation the religious conundrum I wish to evade. Instead, I choose the realm of subconscious wandering.

Lost in foolish absurdity I capture stars in my grasp, crumbled in my bare hand they turn to crumbs of sweet wafer. I eat the stars destruction and laugh madly, licking my palm with glee. The night sky of my dream continues to sparkle with sweet wafers for infinite consumption.

In slumber the vast landscape of eternity is my treasure. In this land I am looming and large, a deity—a deity of creation for this land is my creation. It is the realm of my mind. Here, white gold of the sun fills my wallet with the currency of my desire. With it, I purchase the still of dawn. Lavender, violet streams of hue fill my heaven with folds and streaks of silver while the morning star burns my pocket eager to rise. I deny it. I too remain at rest. I will not escape my land of slumber my land of eternal dawn …

Escapism

JA Freeman

2012/4/18

I hear birds announce their presence and call to others requesting conference on the days foraging and possible mating. The sun’s white gold forces its way through the cracks of my windows guard. My window is slightly ajar and the smell of spring encroaches my room. The metallic aroma of pollen, new flora and freshly turned humus hover as I lay still.

It’s beautiful.

Yet I slumber. I disregard the beauty of the morn. I will not rise to meet my day. I delay its start. I stuff my ears with cotton to no longer hear the chatting fowl. Draw my head into the folds of cool linen. The suns false gold is lost on my hidden eye.

If I rise, I must submit membership of existence and all it implies. Duties, obligation, daunting responsibility and expectation the religious conundrum I wish to evade. Instead, I choose the realm of subconscious wandering.

Lost in foolish absurdity I capture stars in my grasp, crumbled in my bare hand they turn to crumbs of sweet wafer. I eat the stars destruction and laugh madly, licking my palm with glee. The night sky of my dream continues to sparkle with sweet wafers for infinite consumption.

In slumber the vast landscape of eternity is my treasure. In this land I am looming and large, a deity—a deity of creation for this land is my creation. It is the realm of my mind. Here, white gold of the sun fills my wallet with the currency of my desire. With it, I purchase the still of dawn. Lavender, violet streams of hue fill my heaven with folds and streaks of silver while the morning star burns my pocket eager to rise. I deny it. I too remain at rest. I will not escape my land of slumber my land of eternal dawn …

Escapism

JA Freeman

2012/4/18