The Story of a Lone Soul
A worn man lies in his large, stiff bed,
wondering and contemplating his sordid, checkered life.
Gazing at the huge hostile shadows
of the furniture projected on the wall.
Mocking, intolerant, misleading, they are,
and they lay siege to his sanity.
They induce nervous twiddling in his fingers,
though they are knotted and rigid like ropes.
Fever and halucination have become his friends,
faithful servants in his war against the shadows.
The man rises from his bed
as he begins to feel the need for air.
He looks out of the window of his room
and sees a park lying across the street.
Such an opulence of plants.
Such an intemperance of flowers.
Families enjoying their picnics, lovers exchanging gazes,
children running around chasing their dreams in front of them.
It reminded him of lambs dashing toward the slaughterhouse
with their fat bellies and innocent bleating.
But he, too, was a lamb,
submitting his neck to have his throat slit.
At least it would break his constricting and suffocating skin
And cultivate it with a lush red geyser.
The barren and deserted room of his would be
Forced to wear his livid conscience in speckles and streaks.
For he is alone in his room, tormented by the agony of self-recrimination
and envious of those on the outside.
Feeling trapped in his room and his mind,
he thinks that he does not belong with those he watches.
He never realizes how much he will give to those outside his room.
posted by -R at 9:11 PM
3 Comments:
A person that seems to have a strong spiritual background makes a bold statement when proclaiming to be a lone soul. I know that you feel that truth as well. All the same, I know the feeling of sleepless and restless periods all too well. There seems to be an enormous repeating theme for both of us that we've both spoke to about being trapped in your thoughts. The most interesting point here is the conclusion because it solely has an odd gleam of hope surrounded by a pretty hopeless poem. You've learned a powerful thing early that some cannot get past. It isn't that the world sucks soooo bad and it's a pain to live in it. It's that you are equally part of whatever you deem the world to be. Many people stand on perches of status and power and defame and declare, but to at least place yourself in the muck is a start and a valid one. I share your frustration in what happens after that realization. Good Luck, man!
Indeed, the last line is the key to the whole poem. Because it not only hints, but it explicitly states that “he will give to those outside his room,” thereby leaving both his physical and mental room to go and “give to those outside.” His destiny is set: he is going. So the poem is about him being a lone soul in this moment, but with the foreknowledge that he is set for a much nobler destiny – public service which is akin to serving God.
Let me assure you and everyone else that I am OK! This poem is not my cry for help. Sometimes I feel alone in the world, but I definitely know that I’m not. Indeed, I am simply continuing our theme of being trapped in our thoughts. I wanted to write a poem that was particularly symbolic, metaphorical, and descriptive, and this was what I came up with. I love dark poetry especially because of the words and imagery involved. But I’ll try something a little more uplifting next time! :)
Not necessary, I thought as much, but wanted to be certain. Don't put on a smiley face on my account! haha
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