"Sleep Tight" - Bahamas AI Art
©A. Derek Catalano
You've Made Your Bed, Now Lie In It
Beneath the heavy quilt you stitched with care,
Each thread a choice, each pattern laid bare.
The fabric woven from deeds you have sown,
The bed is yours, and yours alone.
The mattress bears the weight of fleeting greed,
Stuffed with feathers plucked from selfish need.
No gentle down, but bristles sharp as sin,
A prick for every time you let darkness in.
The sheets you spread are colored by lies,
Each stain a truth that you failed to revise.
Wrinkled and twisted, no smoothing can hide,
The marks of betrayal that linger inside.
You chose the frame, carved it from pride,
Its ornate splendor now hollow inside.
The wood is brittle, splintered by time,
Weakened by folly, warped by crime.
Pillows once promised soft respite,
But dreams cannot flourish in endless night.
Stuffed with regrets you refused to discard,
They cradle your head, but their touch is hard.
And the bedposts? Monuments to disdain,
Etched with the echoes of joy turned to pain.
They rise like sentries, cold and austere,
Reminders of choices that brought you here.
Yet, it wasn’t the bed that shaped your fate;
The ground you tilled, the seeds you ate—
All were yours, the fruits of your hand,
Grown from a garden you failed to understand.
When you planted the thorns, you ignored the bloom,
Trampled the roses to welcome the gloom.
You poured the water, you fed the weeds,
And now you lie in the harvest of deeds.
Do not complain of the sleepless nights,
The restless tossing, the haunted frights.
For every stitch, every knot, every seam,
Was pulled tight by the force of your scheme.
Blame not the stars, the winds, or the tides,
They watched in silence as you turned the sides.
Left and right, you stitched and tore,
Until comfort was gone, and peace was no more.
But there’s a truth in this suffocating air:
The bed you’ve made is not beyond repair.
To rip the fabric is to face your shame,
To rethread the needle is to start again.
Strip the sheets, mend the frame,
Face the ruin and own your blame.
Acknowledge the cracks, embrace the ache,
For healing comes through the paths we remake.
Yet still, the weight of your choices must stay,
For the scars of the past cannot fade away.
To lie in the bed is to learn its design,
To rise from its grip is a power divine.
So sleep if you must, but know this truth:
Life’s relentless ledger is cold and uncouth.
Each action recorded, each moment applied—
You've made your bed. Will you just lie?
©A. Derek Catalano/ChatGPT
