There are moments when you read something, or see something, or experience something that affects you so deeply, that you feel as if you really have left your body...and you look down at your arms, attempt to will them to move, but find that the connection is lost. An "out of body experience" is too cliché. I've momentarily found my self in the wilderness that Blake calls the "dark night of the soul" - where the weight of the wisdom of the world bears down, and our only reaction is to quickly spasm, and separate ourselves from the reality of things in a moment of self-preservation.

Built of Sand

Can the Innocent write poetry,

Or is theirs of a different kind?

How it hurts to bleed my heart.

Yet with each word I pull poison

Using honeyed hands made sweet

By memories that remind me of

Yesterday and the sun of tomorrow.

The masses seem to forget about death,

And yet they shake dust from their eyes.

Have you been asleep, hiding away in your

House of sand? When will you realize,

No one truly loves the desert.

But I feel it now,

Pressed to my chest – a fiery sensation.

For Time is a madman.