Living Inside the Box

I will go back to living the life of the mind,
The mind that is dying, not so much from
Age as from loss of feeling, isolation.
You may say my art has changed for
The better. It's what it had been before
She arrived: sterile and cold to the touch,
Really, dead, an item produced in a
Sealed off facility, textured to make it
Seem gathered outside, where the mind
Had forgotten that it shouldn't go. She
Was out there, and the mind sprang to life.
Its art grew unruly, and you were displeased,
But the mind has retreated, and so has
The man, who's resolved to die slowly inside.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 62 times
Written on 2015-12-01 at 22:47

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