A poem about change, about finding one's self after the darkness of being locked away in one's own anger. A second chance by life.
I was a fool to lock myself away:
To contemplate the spheres of the world
And, yet, see nothing of my own
Totality, binding and blinding as one,
In a box that I could not lift myself above:
Conceit and jealousy bred inhibitions
Blackly dim, to clutch me to my Self,
In the papier mâché land I built up.
I swore I wanted to do good from ends –
When I was openly yearning for bad;
This dank finity runs its hands over my faith,
Beating bricks filled with excuses
Around my mortal head, like a choker of lead.
Only a little force could tip me into my lot.
My only vision was hate, a vengeful
Face against my body.
No living prisoner can know the captivity
Of an existing mind running infinite laps
Around finite chances and passings by;
Since there is only one chance per sight,
Each backwards thought propels me
Forward into a might, only broken by a whisper.
Thus, when I had forgotten the voice –
Reason was forgotten, too.
Still, that frozen field that squeezed
My soul of life loosed its defenses:
It remembered those beginnings rich and ripe,
Where it pushed the structured shapes away.
What a miracle forgiveness is!
And what stars there are in one glance;
Where my heart had been made rotten
By time passing with no diversion
And empty promises the Devil had offered me,
Such roses made red with my blood to come –
That price held too high a cost now.
I had been blind to the tiniest sensation,
A man’s smile, his chuckle of perfect form,
A conversation full of silent words –
That, yet, seemed fuller than all
I had produced from my very mouth
In every leading hour. I was a fool
To live by rule of mouth, hatred of mind,
When always waiting, was waiting always
A human hand to start my hemorrhaged heart.