Sybil

My life falls gently into place at night
when I sit quietly,
the good far outweighs the bad
and while the poles may shift soon
I'm far too loved to be lost.

And so I am puzzled by my nightmares
although it may be true that they are not all mine.
My mother was Catholic, not me, and yet
sinful sirens, apocalyptic apparitions,
and judgement by fire leave me in such sweats,
my relief at finding my warm wife
in the worn walls of our bedroom is ravenous.

I have such bad dreams,
I've decided to take up arms
but am at a loss as to how to prepare.
Perhaps I have been too careful,
worshiping as I do Anatta, who of course
carries neither sword nor shield,
which I need on the journey
to the boundless country.

Ah, that's it. fool that I am
not to see that I am still part of a play.
In the next scene, I call on the Oracle
who speaks to me in needles of pine
which I collect, place in my pockets.
Right now, I am laying out my costume
and reciting my lines.
I will need to remember them,
rehearsal begins at moonrise.