Yesterday’s insatiable longing to have a break from reality
To feel the hums not as they are but as somewhat desired
And to mingle imagination into the peripheral without merit
Are suddenly diffused
By the long arching sunlight nestled on the window pane
By the curbing of the stomach from hunger
By the relentless diction articulated by an unwavering sister.
Angels were not born to the heavens
But stood in place as I was contemplating madness
Instead of breathing humbly on this forsaken planet.
But the birds sound different when the voices are hushed
They are little apostles singing soothingly
about peace, guiding me onward.
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