leonardcohenforum.com

The sleep has become your worst enemy
waiting like a predator in the shadow
for the moment when the defense of your consciousness is weakened

You wandered from leave to leave
so nobody would see your darkness
but now all dreams are blood-red
and your voice is frayed by the screams of fear

You are loved
like a cockroach suddenly appearing in a pot
no one has used for a long time
You are loved
like a possible disease you become aware of
so everything is colored by obsessions and a rapid pulse
You are tolerated like an old faded calendar you never got rid of
which is now is read through tears in the evening of lost possibilities

But the sleep!
the sleep is waiting with its cargo of horror in the far distance of the house
and so you drink strong coffee and gaze short of breath
at the books dancing around in your living room.

I would love to see this performed as either a mural or a piece of pottery. Good luck indeed.

They tore down the mural, and I wont speak of what they did with the pottery