On Pointless Introspection
I am an ostrich, hiding deep within myself,
My head submerged in murky moods,
Screaming in a vacuum.
No, not a vacuum, but a sound-proof room,
With walls of ten-foot stone,
Clammy, cold and, dimly lit,
That admits no sound,
But the monotonous percussion,
Of a heart that knows the one eternal truth:
We are born dying,
And every breath that we take,
Every beat of our heart,
Brings us one step closer,
To the grave.
It is easy to forget a world exists outside,
My diminutive cell when my teeth chatter,
Not from the absence of warmth,
But from the absence of meaning.
Perspective, perspective, perspective,
Echoes through my fruitless cell.
I am a foolish,
I heard a song today, a soothing melody,
Sung by an angel dressed in woman's clothes;
Oh, sing again, dear love, I had
Almost forgotten your sweet voice!
Edited version from Of Pain and Ecstasy: Collected Poems
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