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FROM THE MULTI-POLAR MIND OF A RECOVERING EX-USER

not poetry, not purposeful, not pretending









...

Sunday, 5 September 2010

Heft

do you feel the room grow cold?
do you feel the tale unfold?
can't make much sense of this strange story,
packed with heroes chasing glory:
I thought love was why we bother,
primed for action we just hover.

woke up in shock from dreams of leaving,
sweat-soaked sheets and stomach heaving:
can't work out why I keep falling,
no-one seems to hear me calling.

just say the word, I'll take you there,
unload this world for chaos knows where,
and lose all memory of the myth-made past,
live each moment like it's our last.

magic theatre - what's it worth?
a dance of death to find rebirth?
escape this heft, earth's leaden boots,
move into fifth, explore new routes?

so long, for now this time has come:
I saw the primal yarn being spun;
and so, you say, I played my part
to these loose ends right from the start.

the twisting trail leads us to here:
no more fun, no faith, no fear,
and all my hopes, those deep desires,
are melting in fate's heartless fires -
but do you feel the room grow cold?
do you feel the tale unfold?

2 comments:

  1. heavy existentialism freely told

    ReplyDelete
  2. Heft: the existential weight of other people's expectations. Hell is other people.

    ReplyDelete