When Things Are Not The Same

When the heat suffocates, growing like a gray cloud over the unknowing earthlings who reside below,
When the cold kills, gnawing at one's limbs like ravenous, glacial creatures, until one feels their own bones and moans from the pleasurable ache,
When the dark terrifies, the shadows morphing into one another, illustrating the worst of our nightmares,
When the light blinds, whether it be the sun or the moon, atoning for the obscure sins of man and illuminating the path to good,
When the rose stings, putrid with decay, weeds become preferable, their moist perfume relieving us of our desires,
When the piano is painful, generating dolorous reverberations, not the appeasing echoes that remind us so bittersweetly of myths,
Does man know not what is good, and right, and real?

When all these begin to fade, unbearable in its loss and its perplexity,
Who do we turn to blame? Who is at fault?
We realise that the person, somnolent and at peace at our side, dreaming carelessly about a simple world,
Is guilty
Is culpable
Is the reason behind our confusion

And we leave, and let go
To face the difficulties once again, an unfortunate characteristic of the sickness of being human
But we can't leave, and we can't let go
Therefore we lay back to sleep, to escape the realities of non fiction

When sleep is no longer easy, its effects being those of dire fatigue rather than those of coveted rest,
It is then we know
That love has found its way into the most profound corners of our soul
The most broken, the emptiest glasses that feed our heart
And we are without escape