I no longer weep,
no more marvel at a favourite dress,
hardly pausing for rest or sleep,
seeking ugliness in loveliness.
I'm akin to woe,
moving far from what was close,
moving to, not fro, judging neither friend nor foe,
feeling prick of forms surrounding rose.
I do not own what I did rent,
having another caring for other,
in pent up feelings not repent,
not identifying with sister or brother.
I ignore the sun, but notice the cloud,
breathe with increased heartbeat the air,
listening silently at proud boisterous loud,
having given up on trying to dare.
Many have I in ignorance offended,
wasted in earning a living are thoughts of mind,
my life continues as a butterfly's cocoon ended,
rising in flight, of necessity leaving burden behind.
