“Lifeless I laid”
In my dingy, unkempt room, I laid,
It was a weekday, maybe Monday or Wednesday.
In a deep slumber, I stayed—for half a day,
The other half, motionless, I stared
At jumbled books that remained on the shelf,
Books I swore to catalogue last Friday.
On my plushy bed, I laid, like a coffin,
With velvet lining, I still can’t say.
Motionless, I remained on a weekday,
In profound silence, lingering in the dungeon
For the rest of that day.
And my mind, a mess like the room in which I stayed,
For thoughts came and swayed, but didn’t stay,
Like tangled wires on a pole, my thoughts that day,
No hopes to untangle, just another endless crusade.
So, for that day, I just laid, and then my mind raced,
I wondered if it’s okay to be a ghost on daunting days.
For even the moon shies away,
And the sun hides its rays on foggy, ashy days.
Yet, most days, they still gleam, nourishing our souls with their rays,
And if the moon, too, needs a few days in solace,
Then I concur, it’s okay for us to just lay
On our dark and weary days.
