I really should be in bed
As I must be up early
On the morrow,
Yet here I sit
Pondering...stuff.
I am chilled,
But
I dare not
Turn up the heat.
What's wrong with that?
When did it become
Sinful
To want to be comfortable
In my own home?
Must have been
About the same time
I gave up my freedom
In favor of security.
I'm sure there must be
An urgent warning
In that,
Something so dire
I can't fully comprehend
The depth of the danger
I am in.
So I sit on my frozen butt
And type with blue-tinged fingers
As I contemplate
The otherwise comfortable state
Of frustration
I find myself in,
And quietly acknowledge
To myself
That there ain't nuthin' gonna change
Tonight.