Astral

I have a notion that I will not know how to start

without sounding like someone else

the centre, the core is brilliant

but the periphery is really quite crap

When I try to sleep at night

I see "God", in colours

and sounds, that whirl around

my Kansas-top room

and then I feel grateful

almost pleased that I am not exposed

the way you want me to be

and I think we might fly if I wasn't hemmed in

Behind my eyes there is always a spotlight

A screen of black with a small hole

that lets me see something, only partial

I need no light when I open them again

through the great expanse of criss-cross glass

there is already a light shining, its cold and white

I should not have thought all that before sleep time

I should not have listened, and breathed and counted

I should not have wondered at all

For now I am hanging on to the bedpost

Sheets and clothes flying in a hurricane

I know I need to let go but I spend my time rearranging the mess

Trying to tuck myself in again so I can awaken properly

Not to be dragged through the violent dimensions of the stars

I awaken a total of 8 times, always clinging to something

Why is it always so stormy up there?

The winds of impatience are always waiting

as if I should have done this so long ago

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009