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Monday, 8 June 2015

A Mass of Contradictions

I haven't written a poem spontaneously in years. So here is my rusty muscle:

Have you ever felt a searing pain?
                               a searing joy?
                               wistful and lonely?
                               plain and homely?
                               a rightful gladness?
                               overwhelming wrongness?
                               light and insane?
                               thoroughly sane?
                               flighty and reckless?
                               staid and weightless?
                               truly restless?
                               a beautiful mess?
                               an ugly mess?
                               an insatiable lust?
                               well and truly bust?
                               ridiculously complex?
                               a broken reflex?
Have you ever felt, felt, felt             I feel too much?
                                                         I think too much?
                                                         I am too much?
                                                         I shall combust?
                                                         What can contain me?
                                                         Who can contain me?
                                                         Will I be contained?
                                                         Should I be contained?
If I am not, shall I not bleed all over the ground?
If I am, shall I not destroy myself?
Then have you seen yourself in the mirror,
Looked at the sky,
Realized how insignificant you are and
Laughed it off?