Bury

Under books, work, the weight of the world,
Fierce shadows lurk, and sit beside me curled,
As though a cat, purring asleep,
But ready to pounce, leap
Upon my lap, claws ready, sharp,
A heartless stab, jab, scratch and tear,
If I should I dare
Pull myself up to breathe,
It would not sheathe
Those talons,
Instead all would fall
In gallons
Of books, work, the weight of the world,
In one swift flurry,
Completely bury.

Slow Motion

I move in slow motion
while gusts of people blow,
twist around me and show
panic in tornado eyes,
feet spinning from the ground,
updrafts of angry air
to reach imagined skies.

I shelter from that confusing wind,
the devastation of its vortex path
ensuring I keep out of harm
and seek out a coffee cup
to keep things slow, relaxed and calm.