Time flickers at dawn,
An anomalous shiver that signals,
That unnerving break in the chain of custody,
For the curated experience promised every night,
Like an existential nightcap that cyclically provides,
That soothing blanket that smothers the turmoil of insomnia,
And paints personalized reasonable doubt with the same stroke.
When the Sun whispers,
Beckoning us to live in His way,
We can reach for our fabricated peace,
But grab fistfuls of some sheety substitute.
Prisoners, we awaken to this burnt world,
Assuredly, though not certainly, of the same ‘here’ and ‘there’ as our fathers.
Our bonds are not metallic but hydrogel,
Present and unannounced at the beginning of every eastern eternity rising.
These bodies betray us beautifully:
Blinking away the chance at certainty witnessed,
Opting instead for their self-preservation in exchange for damnation;
There is no Holiness without Truth.
Instead, we are carried away by our vessels,
To a land unnervingly known but not recalled,
Stolen away from our homes under the cover of our own doing:
With eyes wide shut.
As you blink away your inheritance,
Look for the shimmer of truth that erupts,
When our mother’s embrace evaporates from a banishing ray,
You are there and not here.