Beaver

Persona

 

Some days begin in darkness

Before carbon flares in light

Slow-wakening of illumination;

To reside between its flickers

Or exposed in spectral sight.

 

Pinned upon the table

Limbs wriggling in defence

No pity in your eyes

As you would have me frozen

Caught in webs of pretence.

 

In the absence of sincerity

I retreat into myself

Reality is sickening

Repelled from playing the role

Your voice has long compelled.

 

What is real anymore

What is soul or mask

Too long in careful artifice

My muteness is my answer;

I am too afraid to ask.

 

In silence there is power

When language is for few

That once held me by wires

In hands that weren’t my own

As if an object being moved.

 

 

Each moment ionised, ignited

Alone, life comes and goes

In voice and perishing soul

The impermanence of an arc-lamp

Fades to darkness from soft glow.

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