As if the little things were not enough:
those trivialities that chafe and burn
like tinder when it’s dried and raspy rough,
that seem so insignificant you spurn
the notion that beyond them is the truth.
It’s just that they are countless, and to try
to sweep them each aside is of no use;
for each one sings its own sweet lullaby
to soothe you back to sleep, where you have been
up to this point content to never mind.
Yet try to shut them out; you’ll find their claws
sunk deep into your psyche. You will dream
of ways to satiate their greed, and find
they hound you without mercy, grace or pause.
05 JAN 2005
© 2005, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.
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