Two Short Poems, The Analyst, and A Response to the Analyst

[VulpesFulva]

The Analyst

I sit in a chair at an oak-colored desk,
Fidget with figures, and clutch at my chest,
Preventing my soul from fleeing its nest,
Pretending I’m fine and my work’s a success-
Ful path for my life, one free from duress.

But how long can one’s soul in bars be restrained?
What will happen if time chooses not to unchain
My soul?

Will there once, in an instant, be an ear-splitting crash—
My soul spouting from me with a colorful splash?
Or will never come a time when my soul is unlashed?

Will I rot in this chair, my gray soul beaten down—
Its color draining from me in cobwebs to the ground?

-------------------------------------------------

A Response to the Analyst


Hello, it’s I, your soul inside—
Your love, your life, your vibrant pride.

I have an issue with the verbs
And nouns and other basic words

You put to paper, Web, and text
That handed choice to Time’s effects.

Beshackled though I seem to be,
It isn’t Time who holds the key.

It’s only you, my friend, who may
Dispel the chains which you create.

[Buh4Bee]

So true, so true. Nice answer and response format. It worked for me as a small story/poem.

[VulpesFulva]

Thanks!