|
Surrounded I am
by the imaginings of others.
My own find no place
of pride on my walls,
are hid.
No dreams of flying
ever haunt my sleep.
I always land hard,
no matter how deep
the jump.
I do hear noises,
but see no ghosts.
The God you pray to
never manifests
to me.
My characters are kind,
not impish or mean,
my drawings simplistic,
my prose, pedestrian
at best.
My soul
wears lead boots
as it walks through this world,
is cold and sure
about all it perceives.
My head
does not float
like a coloured balloon:
it’s anchored by sinews
stronger than trees.
My heart
is a muscle,
music-less mass,
driven by blood,
not roses, not love.
April 16, 2023
|
