At Night I Prepare For Sleep In A Soft Bed Poem by Josh Terpening

At night I prepare for sleep in a soft bed
The moonlight beams dance all night
Long on the ground, I dig, a slave
Shackled to my shovel grasped so tight—
In the end I collapsed, dead in my grave.


(Never neglect these gifts)
as I feel the illusion of time unfolding—
and swiftly strive to shift and sway
in synchronicity with the rhythmic currents—
still ever gracious
these desires shall subside.
Persevering phases and waves of phases
There, there
Clinging on to self-sacrifice and surrender
Your internal gift shining
Blindingly you will see it.

Getting closer to apathy than ever before
Baptized in these lies
I despise your wicked cries
And endlessly I flee
Seemingly from sympathy.

And still, my humble skiff keeps me alive
By never destroying, never weakening.
This is the ultimate ride.
Oh, my chemical hurricane has ravaged
My philosophical oars, my poetic palms,
And each brilliant sunrise, each pallid moonlight
My heart still forces wounded blood
To every burning muscle fiber and back again.
Yet still, I can feel the sea consuming me.

Whirlwind of sounds
Amorphous and pounding rhythmic
Between my temples,
And consuming the quiet—
(the gentle monotones of my thoughts)
invariably yielding a sweet surfacing subconscious;
In this I produced this.