From Behind Weary Eyes, In A Bedroom Poem by Adam Harding

There is no sun now, and I am not tired still -
trees creak as the wind whispers to them,
'bend left, bend right.'
My only light is this lantern,
placed to my left upon this desk
on which emotion flows, a trickle of potential.

Suppressing my deepest thoughts
until they can no longer gasp for air (they are
dead now, and shall not be heard) ,
I wait for the proper time,
a time when it is safe to break apart
my body, let my words soar like peregrines,
and dive into reality, clutching every soul by their claws,

but still I wait.
It is dark now, and I have nothing.