Reminded of my wrongdoings
I hear the tree-branches outside perform a fleeting, frantic, flustered dance.
The music the leaves create has structure:
rustle, rustle; crunch-crunch-crunch.
It sheds light on the lie I sell as truth.
The ruse cleaves – it despises light – it wants to rupture;
it would retreat to my sombre spirit if given a chance,
but it can not: it is mesmerised by the dance.
I twist, tormented, upon seeing what I have grown to be:
I am a lie, I almost doubt my physical existence.
Rustle, rustle; crunch-crunch-crunch.
The repetitive percussion mimics my heartbeat;
the way that the core organ endures with undying persistence,
and knows not what I am; it knows naught of me.
It is doubtlessly safer that it does not see.
How can my nucleus and I coexist with opposing motives?
Now, can I part with it and still move through life?
Where can I find answers? –
only there will I take my chances.
My heart must go – I have filthied it enough.
I start thus, though it is privy to my joy, fear, hate, love,
on my heartless dwelling through the starved life that is my sentence.
I have no heart
and I feel no life.
Am I still here?
© Annalinde Louw 2006
I found the images using Google Images.
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