Close up of eye with shocked expression
in ,

Everything is silent

Everything is silent.

The sound of the clocks’ hands tick as if a pickaxe hitting concrete again.

And then,






As if digging deeper digging into your mind the idea that sleep is not your friend.

All that is present in this moment, is time.

Time goes by in micro movements as if the play button on life was pushed to slow motion,

Every moment longer than the last.

I think of time.

The rising and setting of the sun.

Is time real or a concept of the mind?

Is time set by the sun’s set and rise?

The time spiral.

The ouroboros.

The sun dial

Shadows slowly consuming light…

Is light really eternity?

I believe darkness is life’s truest form.

Light is foreign.

Light sneakily comes in to overshadow that that already was, darkness.

Maybe we’ve got this whole thing wrong?

They say that if you want to sleep repeat the word “the” in irregular patterns.

The. The…..the… The………the………………the..the……………the…the…


Maybe try counting jumping sheep.

1,2,3,4,5,6….. 196

But non of these tricks help to fix sleep.

Outside the frogs and crickets and frogs and crickets play a concerto in crescendo,

As dogs bark and chase and bark and chase at shadows.

Glowing eyes float in the darkness reflecting the moons light,

As creatures of the night shuffle with the light wind.

In this world, the inanimate comes to life.

The house seems to speak to the creaking furniture

As the fridge hums along as if singing the song of boredom.

The doors ever so slowly swing,

Back. Stop. Forth. Stop. Back. Stop. Forth. Stop.

As if afraid to make a sound.

Outside, the lonely drunk shouts,

Or what he must believe is singing, at shadows,

Dogs complaining that he’s stealing their job.

Well, at least that’s what I believe.

But when does day begin?

When is dusk’s dawn and dawn’s dusk?

These are the questions that I ask lying there staring in between air,

Counting invisible particles trying to piece together the thoughts in my mind.

Sleep teasing me as though teaching me the woman’s art the night through.

A battle between sleep and myself like two bull’s locked at the horns.

Stuck in between eternity and nothingness.

Stuck in between eternity and nothingness.

Stuck in between eternity and nothingness.

Stuck in between eternity and nothingness.

Stuck in between eternity and nothingness.





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Written by Jason Ntaro (0)

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