ribs engulf muscle and a heart
wraps itself in the blanket of bones;
are you sure it isn’t too much
to have Life crammed so neatly in a cage—
a bird with clipped wings?
it stays, stuck, at the cliff’s edge
until some strong wind unfolds against its back,
and it falls far and long and hard and sure enough
it can’t fly.
it must be… it must be too much…
to have Life stuffed in a flesh-colored box—
a day with an absent sun.
time tries to urge it forward,
with the horizon on its shoulders it pushes the sky from the earth,
and forces the necessary inception of morning…
only it reeks of dusk.
it is! it’s too much!
to have Life crowded in a corner too small—
a child’s laugh void of resonance!
their mouth explodes from sealed lips to half-teeth,
a cluster of cheeks and eyes and a scrunched up nose,
and you expect so much more than just
the silhouette of joy.
too much is too much is too much
and what is Life to do but tear into itself—
a spinning record with no stylus.
it rounds and rounds and rounds the player,
but oh! something is coming and the needle is scratching
and there’s music! sweet music and Life
begins.
“Life” -(s.j.)
Just a little something I wrote & wanted to share—take it for what you’d have it to be. 🙂
