Medicinal

hush little baby, don’t say a word

mamma’s gonna buy you a mocking bird

and if that mocking bird won’t sing

mamma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring

and if that diamond ring turns to brass

mamma’s gonna buy you a looking glass

I sit now clothed in boxer shorts, and squinting at the computer screen, after an unsuccessful attempt at breaking into the land of nod. A nursery rhyme recited by my mother playing over and over in my head, in her voice, next to an image of a hallway lit by a night light. A great sadness pressing down upon my shoulders; a starved shepherd weeping over the strife of his sheep in this barren grassless land. At this strained hour, alone, and under the weight of so much love and appreciation, I fear I may be close to buckling. I can not carry them by myself any longer, but what choice do I have? None, of course. A comforting notion. Is it self pity then, or truly a lament for the torment of others? I’ll know when I awake…

"The end times are no longer near.

They are upon us."