museum.

[rewiiired]

Though I often feel dead inside,
nothing seems to ever die in me.
I am a time capsle, a museum
of my unnatural history.

Is it the past I grip
that weighs me down?
Does it tire me, all these
thoughts I can't complete?

Beneath, in this ocean
of raw emotion I drown.
I cut down nothing, too
busy planting seeds.

If I gave up and just relaxed my hand,
if I rose and swam the way to land safely,
with this all released or burned away,
what on earth would be left of me?

We are not what we own,
and every possession is perishable
if in nothing more than our own expiration date,

but are even the thoughts,
emotion and memories we carry inside
as transient as that melting, unique snowflake?

For I feel so full and heavy,
but in a way so empty,
so complex and racing,
yet, quite simply, stagnant.

What does it mean to change?
To re-evaluate what's there
and rearrange?

Or could it mean that to change,
I must burn it to the ground
and walk away?

Would I find I am nothing behind it all,
just a wide, cold and empty space,
Or is this all a mask, and behind,
I'd meet my true, long lost face?

 

[Dastrix Slogan]

rewiiired, you write so consistantly well, I am often floored by your insight into things and the careful way you describe them. I almost always read what you have to say, its just not often that I can find the words to do your work justice.

 

[kytnism]

^^ ditto...

...kytnism...

 

[(Wordy)]

Nice work rewiiired, there are some deft lines in there. The opening two stanzas are particularly strong. I like your meditations on self, identity and impermanence. And the final stanza rounds the theme out beautifully, not to mention being very well crafted - perfect rhyme and meter.