Fear
The glass walls caved in with a roar
a yellow storm that broke the faulty veins that had been
up till now
Invisible.
And I, clutching a rag of paper in guilty hands
curled up at the end of a dilapidated wooden bench
at last doing what I should have my whole life –
Late, once again, on the one day lateness is not excused.
I have always imagined the world ending
with a shattering of stained glass
we had painted to portray the thing we called beauty, and
that had shined vulgar colors on us for millions of lives;
a jolt of awakening from some nightmare into
something that cannot be as easily defined,
for in all minds it is a different message;
a violent wrenching open of the hidden crack of light
in an atlas that had seemed impenetrable, endless –
but the entire time had merely been an idiot’s doodle.
In that moment
whether it be in a dream like this or in some
mad state of visioning
the feeling cannot be snipped and trimmed
and stuffed into a four-letter word,
for it defies all language and
pulls the strings hanging from mind and soul and stomach
pulls them and plays a cat's cradle game with them
and leaves the limbs wild and dancing
with the silliness of a drunk man’s misery.
And yet all fell back into order when I opened my eyes
from a dream that had the power to awake,
and glanced at the rotting walls.
There seemed to be tremendous joy written in them, for
I saw at last their stains were of glass.
Copyright © Grace Eunsong Lee | Year Posted 2010
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