As I lie in the burnt, acrid dust of despair,
I hear the low hiss of a viper, poised to strike.
I raise my tired head and see the reptile prepare
to sink its fangs into the naked flesh, the meat
of my beliefs, to poison and to make alike
the opposites inside my mind. An objective
opinion is thus distorted by the heat
that places death in such improper perspective.
I cannot move, for I am pinned by a python
that squeezes my body so much less than my mind.
My thoughts race oddly in a lonely marathon
of wonder, continuous no more but broken
by the crushing tentacles of doubt, which can blind
tired eyes so they do not glimpse the truth of logic.
So now, as deliberate lies have been spoken,
the snakes may yet conceal their sinister magic.
My thoughts are polluted by venom, and poisoned
by the racking doubt of mental dislocation.
Slowly, steadily, the processes of my brain
cease to operate, except in wild, unreasoned
spirals of hate and pain: mental immolation.
Yet the body lives on—only the mind is slain.
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Interesting Dennis
ReplyDeleteCare to elaborate as to why you feel same now as then
I didn’t feel that way in 1970; writing this was merely a technical exercise. However, I do feel a sense of isolation now, because on most days the only person I get a chance to talk to is Paula. I’ve been focusing on cycling instead of writing.
DeleteOur brain is constructed with networks and this is why many positive talks in TEDtalk in Youtube have inspired me.
ReplyDeleteIt’s hard to be positive when you’re 8,000 miles away.
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