The Stare

I am tired and more than ready to sleep
If you were under the weight
That is pressing me low
To soft pillows of earth where
Only the leaves and the hurrying ants
Notice my eyes and how they don’t weep.

If you lay with me there you would notice
The stare that is not from my eyes, but
From something not there,
And yet it is.

I am tired and more than ready to drift
Beyond the unshakable past
That is pressing me low
To a place I can’t feel in the
Ebbing and flowing of muscle and word
And the fog in my head is surely a gift.

If you lay with me there you would notice
The stare that is not from my eyes, but
From something not there,
And yet it is.

I am tired and more than ready to heal
Releasing the force
That is pressing me low
It’s cocky and grasps at the
Core of my soul, but I’m fighting it now
As the warmth of your hand embraces the steel.

If you lie with me here you will notice
The stare that is not from my eyes, but
From something not there,
And yet it is.

--Cedartree