The human mind is made of glass.
More fragile than we think,
It feels as hard as arctic ice,
But shatters in a blink.
Unseen, its hidden fault lines creep
Towards the bone-dense skull,
And not a thought, a dream, a love,
They won’t at last annul.
The human mind is made of glass.
It slips between the hands,
And spawns a hundred sharpened shards,
The second that it lands;
And there’s no telling who’ll get cut,
Or on what random day
Some piece will pierce a tiny foot
At unsuspecting play.
The human mind is made of glass;
Preserve it from the smoke
That rises black from every hearth
And seeps from every joke,
Till one day all is tar and cough,
Each window choked with gray;
Then all that once was on is off,
And every joy dismay.
The human mind is made of glass,
A crystal Shangri-la
That resonates with each glad laugh
And echoes each hurrah.
From balconies with creamy rails,
We relish and we gloat,
While all it takes to bring it down
Is one shrill, blaring note.
The human mind is made of glass;
No matter how it glints,
The most prosaic wear and tear
Erodes its gilt and tints.
The human mind is made of glass:
I saw your smiling face,
Reflected in the sparkling light,
Now gone without a trace.
I like the central device of this piece very much, Graham - wish I had thought of it! And could play with it to... You carry it through very convincingly here. Skipped the trumpy stuff this Sunday - all too depressing for me... Regards Scott
ReplyDeleteA nice poetic study of the mind , very interestingly done
ReplyDeleteReally solid structure, and a very powerful image to ponder.
ReplyDeleteAh how fickle is the human mind. One moment the heights of pleasure, the next the depths of despair! Well said. I love a good rhyme.
ReplyDeleteOh, how do we put it back together? The last lines touched me.
ReplyDeleteYour poetry is so musical, a pleasure to read and a good study in the use of repetition. Enjoyed!!
ReplyDeleteI agree with Yvonne, the tone and rhythm of your poem is a delight to read. The poem made me think of promises we make and forget to keep. The last few lines brought to mind the horrors of dementia.
ReplyDeleteThe cadence of the poem makes it a pleasure on the ears, but the words are a warning.
ReplyDeletemelodic but with a pinch!
ReplyDelete