Suspended

 Held closely by a snuggle warmed comforter

      I hesitate.

I want to stay

     in this body molded nest.

To move, to get up,

     is feel start up pain -

     pain neither

     the cold of the tile floor

     nor the stiffness

     of my joints explains.

I am suspended in a cocoon between

     pleasant past

     and a demanding future.

I want to stay awhile

      free from harm

      in the cozy slot

      between dreams and demands.

A place to ask time to stop.

A tick of the day

      where the mind catchs up 

      to run at awake speed. 

But to stay

      is a form of death,

      a warm nothingness -

      a womb for

      those already born.

A mind station

      for the return trip

      up the birth canal.

If asked,

      I would say that purgatory

      is a warm and soft place.

      that only the pressure

      of demand for change

      will move me.

If there were no referees

       I might stay

       at this station forever.

But the whistle has blown

       and I must move before

       I am declared dead.

For that brief moment

      I wanted time to stop.

It would not.

I have to leave

      this warm comforter station

      and hit it for another day.

But a moment ago

       I quit fearing death.

I have seen the previews.