Interminable Sleep

I may be young - if young is young

And youth is what it seems.

I chisel into memory,

A grain of sand in an hourglass

Is a refrain of continuity,

Biting into my prolonged sleep.

I may be old - if old is purely a state of mind,

Bound into the restrictions that life provides me with.

Shall I breath to instinct?

Let nature prevail?

I may be dead,

In limbo,

In absence of mind or sight.

Still numb with a malingering sense of isolation,

A cipher purely in a matter of time.

But I am still a power in myself,

To string my fate

And to fossilize my all.

For want of a chance,

I stir,

I wake,

I call.

Georgina Klein 2004