SHELLED DOVE
Years after her birth,
She returns to her birth-shores:
Shelling her own eggs:-
Yours, the pale-shelled cameo, dear
Moon-skied, Night-worn.
Hung from its pure starred necklace.
Pearls of the high-born!
Of you what's mythic featured
Afar, as dream-lit
Alike within clasping's reach.
Alike to claim it.
The crab is lonely in the sea
Of regret and melancholy,
He watches idly, in silent plea
Of someone to embrace him.
He wishes daily for a heart
To share his longing, when apart,
But terrified to make the start,
Allows no one to face him.
"Stay away," his bitter cry,
"My claws are sharp and my tongue is sly,
I'll cut you up if you come close by"
And so no one comes near.
Whenever close by others come,
He flees back to his spacious home,
A shell of iron, that saddens some
And brings the others fear.
A wholly cursed creature is he,
Who cannot love or trust with glee,
Or ride the free waves of the sea
To happiness beyond.
I'm keeping track of
a big bug buzzing above my head, resembling
Public order. How did it get in, I wonder and
did it use hand-sanitizer before entering?
Silly thought are easy to come by these days
when yesterday came today and will likely
impose itself tomorrow, making my kitchen
calendar redundant, except for a dart game,
puncturing holes in the wall.
Today, a big rain washed out my plans
for grocery shopping, not in the mood
for freezing in long lines for the sake
of a jar of milk, some butter, bread, and eggs,
not to forget toilet paper, the prized item of
them all!
Painting my mask crossed my lazy mind
nailing it: Need love
I should come out of my mental coma sooner
than the vaccine, no health worker can decide that
and it won't hurt to call a friend and
pretend I care. Coping with lies is
easier now that I'm in house arrest
without committing a crime. Self-surveillance
doesn't quite work here, coughing at my shadow
has ideal effect! It barks back a word of wisdom
ladies, gentlemen, forever idiots, there 's an
empty bench under the apple tree. Live
without panic, in the firmament of existence, in
the ventilator of passing time.
Early spring morning.
Is it singing just for me?
Tiny flecks of misty magic
tumbling from its beak.
Perhaps its screaming out for mercy.
Beneath a broken wing...
or offering a lullaby to a grey-shelled moon.
Need I for that while?
To ascertain who I am
A life to never have a registered file
This body, simply a shell I found to lend
A body only ever so vulnerable
Every reason to be exploited again and again
A someone, rather a soul more desirable
Or rather an empty shell to better yet remain
The kind of care to have to go through
The maintenance, the root of ever well-being
And comes love for another shelled you
Have I forgotten a soul to ever have been?
Or have I my soul borrowed?
Have I a deal struck with the Devil himself?
Every now every then to only feel hollowed
Have I that everything, perhaps nothing else?
A borrowed soul, an empty shell
To simply ascertain who I am
A non-believer trusting time will tell
For the body or the soul found to lend
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