Yourself?

Lazy afternoons

The afternoon has a rhythm of its own.
The air swirls as it enters the room,
Like the breath of a gentle giant
In a deep slumber
Dreaming of food and drink.

His heart beats, sharp and tinny
Like the ticking of a clock,
In phase with the rhythm of his breath
While the world holds still.

In fear? Or awe? At peace.
This deadly slience, this glorious silence
Filled with the lassitude of a lifetime
An inertia, a weight, a gravity
An eternity,
Lying there, wide awake, but trying so hard
To go to sleep.

posted by Downhere. @ 12:37 pm