Wishing that the room
had more than four walls –
indeed, I wish it had walls at all –
what? If there are no walls
how is the door staying up and open?
How is it I can’t see the house next door?
How does the whole world exist at all
if there are no barriers?
Oh, there are walls — trust me on this.
I know my lies when I see them.
This is why
I scream metaphorically, if at all,
about the trap I’m in –
it’s my making
that makes it so, that makes it
look open and inviting when in fact
it is nothing but. This world is all
about walls — I put them there and
pretend they aren’t there while knowing
they are there and so we merrily
roll in circles, avoiding the walls
that aren’t there but are there,
thinking about the pictures hanging on them,
ooohing and ahhhhing over them,
occasionally pretending we are free to go.
June 19th, 2012 at 1:04 am
The best part of reading your poems is that it induces so many tangential and even unconnected thoughts. I am unabashedly using you to unlock imagination. Thanks for that.
They, of the forests, wondered why we make walls;
‘They believe they will wear the walls, when they die,’
Said the Wise-one, and smiled.