Windows to the soul, they say
My soul is trapped behind mine
iron bars for irises
Staring like a wistful, restricted child
at the world outside
See the beauty and joy
All the people, loving life and each other
See the laughter and frivolity
But know none of it
I feel as though there is a noose
that tightens whenever I try to experience anything fully
The music stirs me, but I cannot sink into it
I see wonderful people, but cannot connect truly
The torture of desire that cannot be fulfilled, though by all rights it should
In a cage
of my own making?
I am tempted to believe the voices that whisper so
but cannot tell whether they are friend or foe
These numb lenses
witnessing life like a drama enacted
like some extra in the act
as the narrative climaxes, fade from stage
while the eminent gorge themselves on glory
for the moment
But when the moment is gone, so are they
erased, obliterated from memory
But who am I kidding? So am I
And I never amounted to anything.
Never even pretended.
Though I write a thousand songs
What voice would share them?
What ears would listen?
Though I ache to share my mind’s rich landscapes
cultivate the seeds planted there
share its fruit with other souls
and receive theirs
Here I remain
Alone as ever
voice echoing off these stone walls
reverberating back upon my own head
until madness is all I hear
Where is sanity
but in the silence?
To cease the constant questioning
And perhaps when I can be with myself
the rest of the world can, as well