Directions in Soap

Poetry by Daniel J. Neumann

 

When you fall asleep

Is there time perception left?

Do we feel absence

In the same sense as presence?

Is rest a form of “time theft”?

Washing the dishes,

A soap bubble stuck to me.

I studied its face.

The sphere became dome—

Colors whirling all around.

You could see pictures.

A soldier dying.

A land stolen and soiled.

Greed possessing men.

Living for money.

People dying for money.

Few true values left.

Two lovers in bed.

Running out of time ahead.

Appreciating.

“Is this image right?”

I queried. The bubble wept.

The membrane embraced

Its own collapse and I ask,

Was it lust or love that slept?