As Feeling Is the Highest Art of All
How like a prison is a body lame
The mind calls up desires and feels no shame
But bones and joints all give us piercing pain
And who will pay insurance or take blame?
In my prison, I massage as planned
I exercise my thighs with rubber bands
I touch my toes and shake my own white hands
While down the channel runs my little sand
I read King Lear and thought the king a fool
He did not live nor die as monarchs rule
Now I’m stuck inside a structure cruel
I’m like the pin which hides inside your jewel
The body’s more important than the soul
As feeling is the highest art of all
Copyright © Katherine Braithwaite | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment