numb

A lull of feeling pervades this night, as though the nerves of my body and my spirit have been taxed far beyond what they can feel and every fiber connecting my body, spirit, and mind together has relaxed their strain and stilled their constant humming. Its too much to worry, too much to dream. It is too much to plan for another day. It's enough just to breathe - to breathe and to be, and not worry that there is nothing to say. Nothing that would make sense or conjure meaning out of chaos or answers out of confusion. Nothing that would secure the promise that tomorrow will not bring reality thundering back and shatter the stillness tat comes so fleetingly to weary, weary bones. So I will let them be still...

...Will these bones live...

Dry bones were made for kindling, despair wood for the burning. What is a mortal life when it is tucked into bed at night? Where does the hurt go when it is put to sleep? To a lonely mind, it stacks its broken pieces like kindling and watches the kindled spark ignite and consume.... not enough left to be complete, too much consumed to be complete.

...Meaningless, meaningless, all is meaningless...
...Nothing new under the sun...

Grab love by the throat and beat it back into silence. Its light has been forever doused by broken trust. What use is there in innocence, in a naivety that brings only loss? The wounded child forgot to bring her tattered parasol to shield her from the rain.