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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