Storm on the Ceiling

Laying, staring at the storm on the ceiling.

I wanted to feel better.

The things that usually fulfill me

Are too far away from me this evening.

My room keeps expanding.

-

Today I got myself to move.

My body had grown rusty

From my idleness.

Today I got myself to drip with sweat,

But I don’t feel accomplished.

I can hardly lift my body off the ground.

Once I find the strength,

I stumble to the shower.

Dizzy, hoping I can handle

Cleansing myself without

Fainting.

Alas, my skin refreshed.

Wobble to the bedroom

And plop on the bed.

There’s a storm on my ceiling

Yet the silence is loud this evening.

What to do with my time?

I can hardly hold my head up high.

The air is working against me.

Perhaps this pillow will suffice.

-

Watching the storm unfold

On the refrigerator door.

Shadows cast from reflections -

The dead flowers on my windowsill

appear lively now.

Thanks to the sun,

Who thrives on making gold from gunk.

Now the strings have begun

As the trees join the song

And I can see the layers of sound in my room.

“There I am,”

I think.

Happening before me is a meaningless sight,

But I give it the grace

I have been yearning for.

-

Laying, watching the storm on my ceiling

And following the rain with my eyes.

Dancing droplets on furniture

And gusts of wind on the mirror

All caused by my open blinds.

A white ceiling transforms before me

Into canvas,

Into being.

-

I don’t want to run away anymore.

I wish to listen to the world.

Watch the current cry and subside.

Forcing the halt of the water

Will only make the rivers cut the sides.

There’s no way to take charge of the

reason you’re alive.

So here in my room,

I’ve created a jungle

And watched the sunset

With swollen eyes.

There is beauty in the stillness

And the silence in this moment -

-

A fallacy:

Happiness and beauty coincide.