So often it steals our passion and replaces it with exhaustion.
It sneaks underneath conscious intent like sleep undertakes motivation.
We cannot fight biological needs, and trying only makes the depletion worse.
A fever returns the moment we push past the need for rest.
Doing our best to rise above the rules and machinery, we still fall onto the conveyor belt to be placed in the mold.
Fit inside or be pummeled and crushed by the jaws of society and survival.
Wear the glasses of complacency to see the illusion of safety and learn your place in the order of feeding.
Dont lose your spot in line.
Embrace new skin that isn’t yours for the hope of enduring the race.
Believe in the path set before you, never seeing the circular nature of the hamster wheel.
The hologram of beauty and freedom in the distance, tropical islands projected on plastic walls
curving around you to give you a sense of the world, arching over your head to make you feel small.
But we dream anyway, for our sleep is still our own,
though mundane life and soulless tasks attempt to lull us into another command.
We dream of green plants and fresh air and running on beaches
to catch up with the sun before it descends behind the sea.
We dream of flying and spacewalking and walking on water.
The walls dissolve when we leave our bodies to travel to other worlds.
What wonder to be found there, in the places beyond the reach of tyrannical reign and Earthly chains.
We learn of places existing beyond the limitations of our perception,
of customs that liberate creation.
The Grail in our very hearts, the sacred scribing quill in our beautiful minds,
the wings upon our very souls and the power in our hands.
Threads of truth are sewn in our spirits, that even when we succumb to the false sleep,
we may wake to the fabric of a new day.
For when our hands were behind our backs so we could fit into the tiny spaces allowed,
we found the holy knitting needles and were weaving all along.
Copyright ©️ Sheyorah Naify, 2021