Sitting in Michael's Lap
The body tires, but mind will know no ease,
And thoughts bemoan their flesh captivity,
Like symptoms of intransigent disease,
They rage, defiant, in the core of me.
Unyielding blaze within this mortal frame,
Volcanic, it demands a swift release --
Else risk the mount devoured by the flame --
Insomnia, the price to pay for peace.
In versed assault, the questions siege my brain,
While I, with half-formed words, prepare defense,
And yearn in faith to simply go insane,
To thus retreat from musing’s exigence.
Yet, when the flag is claimed in victory,
The wounds of war are bled in poetry.
Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made,
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange...
--William Shakespeare, from The Tempest