You might think
That the thing
Underneath your head
Is a pillow
But maybe
It is a sponge
It slowly soaks up
The worries
Of the day
Feel
Your anxieties trickle
Down the back
Of your neck
Out of the base
Of your skull
While you stare
At the ceiling
In the watchful darkness
Or perhaps
Everyday stresses
Dribble slowly
Out of your ear
Drip, drip, drip
Every so slowly
Wetting your spongepillow
As they are released
For some folks
The flow is fast
Their head
Hits the pillow
And at once there is
A quick let-down
Of easy, effortless flow
Some of us
Take a little bit longer
Some worries
Need time
To weep
Their way out
It would be easier
If things would go quickly
But feelings flow
At their own rate
There is no rush
To make the waters
Of your brain
(Which looks curiously
Like a sponge, doesn’t it?)
Run clear and free
Remember that
The most beautiful
Stalactites are formed
One droplet at a time
For now
Just lie back
And feel the support
Of the sponge
Wicking away
Your disquiet
life and art
