My Moribund Mask - a Tribute To Lonliness
With my knees to my chin,
And my arms to my chest,
And my eyes to the dead space,
And my cheek to the floor,
My lip to the other,
And my mind on the door,
And they’re pooling, unknowing,
Forlorn tears, not flowing,
Caught and held by the eye shape
That’s protected and glazed.
They look to the inside,
At the fire that blazed.
But still is my breathing
And blank my expression,
And neutral the lip set,
And limp my position,
With minimal movement,
It became tradition
With thoughts that plough forward,
Bereft in my small world,
Just waiting and empty;
As always I’m cleaving
To hope that I don’t trust;
Assurance that’s leaving.
And it swells to a wail,
That will silently howl
Through a heart that is sobbing
It collapses in grief.
Though eyes don’t betray me;
The glimmer is brief.
Though the torture maintains
Its unyielding grip,
My swelled heart thuds sedition
Against rusty iron bars,
You won’t see me hurting
Through my moribund mask,
No you won’t see my heart
Through my moribund mask.
Copyright © Emma Gregory | Year Posted 2009
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