The self recedes to make space for the urgent,
To give room for the latent,
And to welcome the impatient.
His stature is confident,
His manner is matter of fact,
And his demands are absolute.
The self does not cower so much as it allows,
It does not matter, it thinks,
After all, who can resist a restful sleep?
But the self will not awaken,
It will not be given the chance,
For he is now all consuming.
Next time, it thinks,
And the self shuffles back to sleep,
He will die, and I with him.