One Week

One week until harvest…
    Until I can cancel desire and become shielded again.
    Speak nothing of it. Time is ephemeral. It is mine.
    What I say will happen in its time, and I will be glass again.
Inherently outraged, and yet I let it in. open doors - open doors
    What is said of morals? Of intelligence, of what we know,
    Of who we are…
    Of what we dream, and distant stars;
    You see, I shut my door on someone for the first time
        Someone who wanted to save me from myself.
        And since I knew him from childhood,
        It was important. Aren't we?
Howl, immortal, and show me where I went wrong
    when terrapins have been clawing their way outward
    from the ground into forbearance and sunlight…
    And where is the disgust in shells for flight
    blinded foresight..
One week until harvest…
    Until I can write again, and be empty again,
    and concentrate again, and connect again,
    and see pictures,
    Of who we are…
    Because I didn't know. I never learned.
        One week, starting today.
        And if it lasts, it will do so in silence
        I can give silence, peace, and be shielded again
…and no one can be disgusted in shells for flight, blind or earned.

One week.