I catch myself watching—
like a lamb: sometimes shorn, always fed.
Wouldn’t want to give those who might unmask me
a reason not to.
A constant adjusting,
to prove to the Other, the Correct, the Flawless,
that the flaw within me
shuns its own kind.
I follow this gentle master—
It tends to me, after all.
Whispers lovely things, like:
“Why are you staring?”
“Look at me when I speak to you.”
And among the cherished:
“You really should apologize for that.”
Followed by long sermons
on right and wrong,
feasibility and likability.
So much care, it seems,
to serve the lamb the very best.
Well-sheltered, then,
I approach the endless stair—
and wander…
and wander…
and wander…
Beneath me: what I once called mine.
There are:
deep gazes,
beauty as structure,
words like endless corridors
in an ocean of carefully placed doors and hinges—
a feast.
A collection, tenderly arranged
like a friend being laid to rest.
To become more lamb—
for who could resist the wish?
I rest…
On a level where many have rested.
I see a sea of tired souls—
some quarreling wildly,
others with bowed heads.
Only now and then,
a rain from the heads
of those who seem to dissolve.
At the trough of the hopeful,
I see only empty vases.
Willing to carry the weight still,
in exchange for a kind word—
leaving behind
the treasure they gathered with care,
only to strand here.
Breathless.
Seemingly powerless—
left only to point.
Oh, poor souls!
Don’t they know I’m human too?
And yet—I am part of this.
_________________
If you want to finish too soon, you start - but perhaps with the end.
16 Jun 2025, 5:09 am
