Yes! There it is.
Almost a sound,
 that keeps you lopsided,
one foot off the ground—
one's always up
and one's always down—
and sometimes you feel like maybe you'll drown.

Well, that's just you!
Your trying to talk to your head...
to send some sense to those spots that are dead.
To wake you up, so finally you'll see
just what in the world
really is, reality.

For example: the dirty dishes.
Are they really real?
Of course not!
Just let yourself feel.
Just look inside and you'll surely find,
that dirty dishes come from a much-disturbed mind.

Now you know,
and now you can quit
that cleaning and scrubbing...
It doesn't help a bit to wash and dry
you're own personal fit.

And the bed?
It’s not wrinkled and crummy,
covered with books, and wrappers all gummy.
The bed’s just a place where you rest—in your mind.
Where you leave your cares and delusions behind.
Make it if you want,
but for reason and for rhyme,
making a bed is a big waste of time.

But maybe you worry
what others will say?
Will they turn up their noses,
will they not let you play
their fanciful games that they play every day
with brickets and brackets and modeling clay?...
It doesn’t matter if they avoid your door.
They’re not really real, they’re just mystical lore,
created in your mind from insufferable bore.

Just look for the truth,
it’s all there inside.
Let it out, enjoy it,
don’t let it hide.
And, then, when you find
your life’s complete and whole,
just pass this poem on
to some other poor soul.

©R. Bartly Betts, 2001