Waking Up
Waking Up
People misunderstand that you are an iceberg.
What you make apparent is the the 10 percent of yourself above the freezing water.
The rest is submerged.
Sweat beadlets tantalize the formation of a complete thought.
You can’t render it’s meaning in words and it slips through the cracks in your mind.
A feeling you know all too well and the feeling deepens, writhing the back of your mind.
A downgrade of waking in the late afternoon deepens your already broad gloom.
It’s painted thick on the walls.
A strong gust of wind whistles through the cracked windows in front of the desk.
A gentle pitter of rain patters.
It’s too soothing for the heightened state of awareness you are experiencing.
The folly of the discipline of self makes you trust the door open to the heat of a beating shower.
What is the epitome of the will to live?
A voiced “How do I get there” escapes vibrating the vocal folds: The first sound of day.