Make Your Bed


14 September 2021


Make Your Bed


“Make your bed,” the doctor said,

“the surest way to right your head.”

And so, desperately, I do.

But as my head

asks more instead,

the act feels rather moot.


Bare feet fall through empty halls

in which vast silence echoes.

And though loneliness lurks among these walls,

solitude dictates each day’s tempo.

For why fill space with soul or voice

discordant with my own?

Rather curl in soft white down

and in unconscious drown.


Obligations ponder heavy,

impossible to undertake.

And as unproductive days fly by

the mind cries, “Is it selfish I’m a flake?”

Even our fair Buddha says

to relish beauty every day…

but when sun passes in a haze,

who sees splendor straight?


What am I waiting for?

Where is the guiding star?


Perhaps I wallow.

Perhaps I overthink.

Perhaps I could

recalibrate my mind

to be more shallow

and not allow such dwelling

in that deep dark hollow.

Perhaps it is all in my control.


Perhaps I need a drink.

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