A totally random, almost bizaar buch of ideas!
Through deep dark bushes
Of misconceptions
And misinterpretations
He watches them silently.
Puzzling.
Leaves of fear block his view;
Black, cold and brittle.
Stems of insecurity and uncertainty
Claw around his shoulders and arms,
Paralyzing him,
Gripping with woody determination.
Roots from the past
Delve deeply into a disturbing childhood;
Grounding him in one spot.
Drawing up minerals from bitter memories,
The creature grows,
Overpowering him.
He cannot move.
He longs so fervently for their company,
But he cannot reach them.
Unable to uproot his legs
He cannot follow them.
So he sits quietly,
And watches them quizzically through leafy glasses,
All the time morphing into the numb plant,
That is his existence.
For: “Life is what despairs in death
And, desperate, is life still.”
- Archibald Mac Leish.
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