The Pigeons are watching.
I slept, napped, dreamt on my bed,
Beside the looking-glass.
Birds flew outside, there, out of my window near the shed,
They peered inside for food, to gain some mass.
Clouds were gently carried, blown, deviated by the wind,
Lord of the Wind, deleting my worries, opening my eye.
The clouds have a dark, darker, and is at its darkest mind,
Releasing lightning, sounding thunder, waking me face to face with I.
Wiping my wet forehead,
Fanning my cheeks.
I sat up, grabbing a book to read.
I saw the pigeons, pairs of eyes, stunned a moment, cried "eek."
They flapped their wings, dispersed, displaced, flew away,
far, far, all flew away.
They continued watching me, through sun and moon,
awaiting the chance to consume.
I lay awake, tossed and turned, sweaty and sleepless.
Insomnia disturbs, nevertheless.
Only pigs sweat, humans perspire.
Now, I shall retire.
Peace. Rest. Death. Freedom.