Psychomachy

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My eyes are met with sights of familiar roads

Passing country fields

Dotted by roaming cows

Sky so clear 

I imagine it may shatter 


My hands

A simple construct of flesh and bone

Bearing ink, scars, skin


Whose are they

Suspended between wake and sleep

My mind flutters 

Barely contained within human confines


Where have I gone

The shell stretched

Loose

Begging in silence 

To be released


Who am I

The thoughts darting 

Racing for the finish

Am I but a figment of mind

Or an unwanted guest in place of another


The sun is so warm

Wind catching hints of hay

and the distant call of the birds

I only have two more hours to go

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