Conscious

An urge to speak is pressing against my tongue
Loud and screaming and beyond silence
A pillow behind my head, a buffer between bone and wood
Who once rested against this tree?
On a spring afternoon, with another tree in hand
Spelling out nonsense to those who hold it
An artist's hand, turning beauty into beauty
Cutting down beauty to create it
Age might be fickle, but youth is desperate
That song today made me cry
The movie broke my heart
The painting stole my soul
The water drowned my senses
That subtle being turned my eyes
Never yet always the same
Consciousness is frightening


Words by Lisa