Rest

Rest is coming for you, Slithering through the afternoon sun, Colleague to the Grim Reaper, Misunderstood the same.

Death, the liberation, Rest, the taste of it, Innoculation, Building up your tolerance, For not doing.

Beat by beat, Rest feared like silence, In music they are called the same name, Terrifying to the uninitiated, Whose unfamiliarity with silence, Causes them to mistake it, For the noise of their egoic mind chatter.

The deafening, paralyzing uncomfort, With the content of the mind's propaganda, And it's bucking reactive darting nature, Is only a ruse, Cover fire for the desperate self-insistence, Who knows precisely how paper thin the veil actually is

The horrifying thought of our consciousness reaching silence, Drives the ego mad, Like a powerless football coach, Yelling at the innocent children, Who know how to play organically, And trouble to listen to the falseness of dictatorship,

All around us the panick! Don't stop looking here!, How dare you disengage!?, For even a moment's glance towards peace?! You might miss something important! Here, keep looking!...

What if we should rest, And confirm our suspicion, That rest's deathness, Is its power, And we are in no position to resist?