Thursday, January 25, 2007

My Cocoon

I have spun a cocoon around myself,
Not so much to protect me from the world,
As to bind me and confine me
With my pain.

It looks a lot like me, this cocoon. But:
In those eyes there is no light;
In those gestures, no power;
In that face, no motion.

My cocoon goes to the gym.
My cocoon goes to work.
My cocoon goes to the store, and
My cocoon goes home.

My cocoon does not go to parties.
My cocoon does not go to bars.
My cocoon does not go to dinner with friends.
My cocoon sits home alone.

And where am I? Inside,
Tightly curled around the jagged shards
Of my broken heart. Burned by the fire
That once warmed that fragile vessel,
That once drove my every step,
That once powered my spirit to soar.

Will that fire transform me?
Will that fire consume me?
Will I emerge, a new being,
Ready to fly?
Or will I die?

My cocoon looks just like me, but
In those eyes there is no light;
| (Because I sent the light away,
In those gestures, no power;
| And focused all my power on the one,
In that face, no motion.
| The only one who made me move.)

6 Comments:

Blogger L'épée said...

hmm

10:20 PM  
Anonymous TexAnne said...

Wow. When my heart breaks, I don't get art out of it.

10:25 PM  
Anonymous D. Potter said...

Damn. My heart goes out to you. (BTDT understood.) Turn off mass media this month; it will only burn.

12:20 PM  
Anonymous Leigh Witchel said...

Hey - I tried writing you (is your hobbit.org email functional?)

I'm just checking in. Posts like this make one check in, you know.

11:36 PM  
Blogger FSJL said...

Behind each mask there lurks an injured soul,
we do not note or see it while we pass,
hurt eyes observe us, vacant as a whole.

Nothing becomes us like our daily role
in the human drama,we all show our class;
behind each mask there lurks an injured soul.

Surviving the day, that's our normal goal,
not showing that we're brittler than glass;
hurt eyes observe us, vacant as a whole.

Our hearts have been entombed at the south pole
and we've been bound into a solid mass;
behind each mask there lurks an injured soul.

What pain we feel, burns inside like a coal
that's solid though it seems just like a gas;
hurt eyes observe us, vacant as a whole.

Where once was heart, now there is just a hole,
what once was gold now seems like cheapest brass.
Behind each mask there lurks an injured soul;
hurt eyes observe us, vacant as a whole.

9:30 PM  
Blogger FSJL said...

Behind each mask there lurks an injured soul,
we do not note or see it while we pass,
hurt eyes observe us, vacant as a whole.

Nothing becomes us like our daily role
in the human drama,we all show our class;
behind each mask there lurks an injured soul.

Surviving the day, that's our normal goal,
not showing that we're brittler than glass;
hurt eyes observe us, vacant as a whole.

Our hearts have been entombed at the south pole
and we've been bound into a solid mass;
behind each mask there lurks an injured soul.

What pain we feel, burns inside like a coal
that's solid though it seems just like a gas;
hurt eyes observe us, vacant as a whole.

Where once was heart, now there is just a hole,
what once was gold now seems like cheapest brass.
Behind each mask there lurks an injured soul;
hurt eyes observe us, vacant as a whole.

9:31 PM  

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