willingly, each night we fade,
drifting out from structured thought
into yawning oblivious depth:
willingly, our greatest fears embraced
(in such mini-deaths) and
that very fear withheld
due to such familiar occasion.
as we fall from knowings reach,
dream smeared thoughts soften
realities keen edge,
so that:
in this warm, comfortable place
(of indifference)
we drift contently in
incoherent bliss
Christopher Withers
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mini-deaths/
