Sometimes I find myself
Alone with my thoughts.
Sitting at a desk.
Thinking about things.
The lights are out.
The ceiling fan is spinning.
And I am perfectly content.
The outside’s tendrils cannot get in.
The window blinds are drawn.
The papers are scattered across the floor.
I sit scrawling away on another sheet,
Hoping that this attempt will be the one I stick with.
Outside the world is burning;
People are unhappy,
There is unrest, and disease.
Anger and death
But inside my little bubble,
I find calm and solace.
For none of those things can get in.
Nor can I get out.
The calm is also a prison,
Separating me from everyone else.
Perhaps I should go out and face the world,
But it would be easier to stay here instead.
Nighttime comes and with it, my repose.
Tomorrow promises something new
So long as I don’t hide away from it
And I won’t, for opportunity only comes when sought after.