We Are Rats

“Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

As wind in dry grass

or rats’ feet over broken glass

In our dry cellar”

T. S. ELIOT

Silence sounds,

it echoes

then rebounds.

They speak through their drunken sleep.

Not words,

but dreams.

Never avid,

ever rabid.

Caged.

Diseased.

Starving.

These ravenous rodents,

they’re ready for their next meal.

They crave something.

Depraved.

They won’t be saved without it.

They know it’s missing.

They know they need it.

And as time goes by,

they grow more blinded.

They have lost their minds.

***

Faces hanging mournfully.

Eyes that scarcely see.

Their bodies touching

not feeling.

Their mouths moving

never speaking.

Their cries never heard over the deafening silence.

The silence.

It resonates through our void

a silence whose intensity builds

and builds

and builds,

Multiplying infinitely,

never reaching crescendo.

There is no end to this madness.

So, it goes

on

and on

and on.

Our hearts grow cold,

our minds grow numb.

Dreary days trudge on

lumbering like soldiers returning from defeat.

They know nothing but their own insignificance.

These days walk

on

and on

and on

Their burden

building

and building

and building.

In this melancholic state

it’s easy to dissociate.

***

Is sanity fading or is has a myth become a reality?

Because as I speak, I see the incubus creep, and tonight he sleeps in my house.

He’s there.

I see Him.

I’m certain.

I feel him watching me from that dark corner.

He’s drunk on eager anticipation.

He’s waiting for me to lose my sight and to fall into his trap,

to slip into the unconscious realm

of existence, without resistance.

Then,

and only then,

will he wreak his havoc.

I will not be his victim,

I won’t concede.

But he whispers in my ear a little seed,

the spawn of a scheme –

It’s far too good to be true,

I assure you.

This is the work of God himself.

I’m certain.

Him and His grand scheme.

Now he offers me this escape

but it’s fake,

I can guarantee.

A deal I won’t ever take.

He asks I take his hand

to fly with Him

to paradise,

yet the price

is

far

far

far

too high.

He can take all that he wishes.

All but my mind.

I know my consciousness holds the key.

I can’t let him take it from me.

But for now,

So long as I lie awake,

ever conscious of that sly snake,

I am safe.

***

Round

and round

and round we go.

Pathetic rats

running rampant.

Trapped,

in our pathetic little cage.