going through
the days
of process
and habit
feeling like
a reflection
of myself
in chrome
buried under a sea
of fear
and fretting
my conscious self
sleeps the sleep
of the walking
talking
dead
until
stopping
on a street corner
I look up
at a brilliant
blue sky
dotted with bright
white
clouds
suddenly
awake
to the possibility
called life
not just mine
but all of it
swirling
buzzing
humming
from here
to every corner
of the earth
and back
again
(D. James)
