#27
Sober
I am sober
but sometimes I wish I wasn't,
and the world's height
makes me feel so small.
Just look at those mountains.
Their shadows
loom over me and the rest of us;
none of us are the lords
we want to think we are.
We're all just so small.
And the oceans
laugh at our tiny boats,
crashing against the waves
to try to take one more step.
We must see the other shore.
Time's walk is slow,
though I'm deathly afraid to ask
for it to liven its step, walk lively.
As night and her clouds roll,
I want to sleep, but I'm wary of the unknown.
I am sober,
and the world tips and waivers
slurred and faltering, surely seeing more
than is there. It is too big to be real.
It is too big to take in sober.
The wind makes me drunk.