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Molting

by Rob Littler

Certain dark nights I lay awake, haunted
By the ache in my soul, as if a chill
Had spilled onto me—cold, drowning—
Paralysis from within takes control, and
I start adding up each mistake I have
Made, each lesson yet unlearned until
Now. I let myself be pulled to the elated
Magnificence of my own consciousness, only
To be smothered in the abysmal sting
Of the truth of nothingness, even Buddha can’t help
But remind me of this cling, piling on
Top the paradox. Moments like this, in sleeplessness,
Yield knowing only years can bring:
I see best when my eyes are closed.
There is no such thing as silence.
There are no dreams and fears—
Or even nightmares.

06/25/2013

Posted on 06/25/2013
Copyright © 2021 Rob Littler

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