Take me.
I’m too sleepy
to be fit
for initiative.
The world about me
roars and churn,
but all I wish
is to be,
drifting along
my cool river
through summer trees,
bills and papers
floating past me.
Don’t try
to inspire me.
What action
can one,
who is caught up
in breathing
and trying to drift
while holding together
my fragile consciousness
do to change
the world?
The world
will just be
what it is,
whether the trees
leaning over my river
are green
or barren,
with winter’s fatigue.
So take me.
Do with me as you will,
for there is no
floating
down warm summer waves,
and the papers
grow higher.
Take me,
thou tyrant of old,
who found the price
of freedom
was pain.
Take me
away.
Author T.S. Lowe 