I engage and try to change it,
day after day,
until the weight of failure crushes
and I retreat to the peace of my smaller world,
cook some meals and pull out weeds,
which soothes me for a time
until conscience strikes again
like a bell in my heart.
Will I confront the outer world once more
or will I withdraw even further
to the inner world
where lights are dim, sounds are soft
and words have secret powers?
Which world is real?
Is there overlap?
Maybe wordplay in the darkness
settles my mind for domestic tranquility,
which in turn gives me strength to face the insanity
of civilisation,
for a while.
Maybe each layer is necessary
in this onion world
and the best way to heal it
is from the inside out.
