Continental Drift

My left foot is numb
My right arm disconnected
Little of my brain functions any more
Perhaps it never did.

Can I still write? Can I still think
And feel?
Is there rebirth and a new awakening again,
After awakening again, after again…

So many times I have
Fallen asleep
Sleep-walked thru most of my life.
I feel the need for Blood to stir, I shake the chains
That shackle me. Impotent…

Only in the deepest recess of my
Mind do I find a hint of Freedom
Like a chink in the clouds, a brief ray of sun,
Shut out again. Gone.
So long I have walked under the storm clouds
That I have forgotten to even
Dream of day.

But as the chains bring me crashing to my knees
I feel the stirring of blood.
The wind bites cold and desolate in my Soul
Yet burning true and keen.

Simple comforts of life: warmth, food, friendship,
Peace of Mind.
Such things do not frequent this Poet’s Soul.
I had forgotten that I was such,
A Poet.

A shaper of words and imaginings
A Painter
Of lost inner worlds without.
A dreamer of unknown meanings
And continental drift.

An Eye that can see the World
Though the World sees not
The Eye.


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