This Body
This body seems wrong, with all of it's trappings,
A fragile shell, like a corpse's wrappings
Containing something of which it is not.
This body is weak, faulty, and frail,
It seems that I can do nothing but flail
As my mind imagines things this body can't do.
I know in my heart that I could do such more,
Were I not stuck in this body, too frequently sore -
No - constantly, sore in my mind at my inabilities.
Often have I felt as I do on this thought,
But always those thinkings have come to but naught,
As logic, or rather, teaching takes over.
Am I what I am? What makes a man he?
Devoid of this body, would I still be me?
Or am I not me 'til I find my true form?
I do not know for what I am meant,
For great or for poor, with greatness' intent,
But I feel trapped where I do not belong.
I see other's thoughts, displayed on a screen,
And I wonder if ever I too could be seen,
Were I not stuck, wrong place at the wrong time.
I feel cheated, as if by some big cosmic joke,
At times the feelings are so strong that I choke
On my anger, and then, I am left here but still.
I'm torn between worlds, of mind and this shell,
One I know not of and the other is hell,
But it could be that the unknown is worse.
Too many have thought this, and robbed it of what
It once could have meant, should still mean now, but
I cannot imbue these words with what I feel.
I long for all that I wish I could enjoy,
For love, for fulfilment, for meaning and joy,
But I fear circumstances will limit me still.
How can I say a thing which must be felt?
I can't, but I try. On these thoughts I have dwelt
For so long, on and off, in the dark of my mind.
I am in this body, but I am not it,
And my thoughts are not in these words that I've writ,
But I am.
A fragile shell, like a corpse's wrappings
Containing something of which it is not.
This body is weak, faulty, and frail,
It seems that I can do nothing but flail
As my mind imagines things this body can't do.
I know in my heart that I could do such more,
Were I not stuck in this body, too frequently sore -
No - constantly, sore in my mind at my inabilities.
Often have I felt as I do on this thought,
But always those thinkings have come to but naught,
As logic, or rather, teaching takes over.
Am I what I am? What makes a man he?
Devoid of this body, would I still be me?
Or am I not me 'til I find my true form?
I do not know for what I am meant,
For great or for poor, with greatness' intent,
But I feel trapped where I do not belong.
I see other's thoughts, displayed on a screen,
And I wonder if ever I too could be seen,
Were I not stuck, wrong place at the wrong time.
I feel cheated, as if by some big cosmic joke,
At times the feelings are so strong that I choke
On my anger, and then, I am left here but still.
I'm torn between worlds, of mind and this shell,
One I know not of and the other is hell,
But it could be that the unknown is worse.
Too many have thought this, and robbed it of what
It once could have meant, should still mean now, but
I cannot imbue these words with what I feel.
I long for all that I wish I could enjoy,
For love, for fulfilment, for meaning and joy,
But I fear circumstances will limit me still.
How can I say a thing which must be felt?
I can't, but I try. On these thoughts I have dwelt
For so long, on and off, in the dark of my mind.
I am in this body, but I am not it,
And my thoughts are not in these words that I've writ,
But I am.
♠ ♠ ♠
I do not have a perfect body, it is thin and frail despite my best efforts, but I have always been good at physical things due to my mind. I've often felt displaced, really comparable only to being a consciousness wrapped in the wrong thing. As I said, this is a cliche, and makes me sound like another "Oh no, no one understands me, I'm all alone" sad sack.I'm not.
I recently saw the movie "Avatar", and I was struck (as I often am) with a certain hatred for imagination, because though I love what imaginations (mine and others') can come up with, I am bitter at the harsh return of reality, forcing itself upon me like unwanted light - unstoppable.
References, there are a few. "Other's thoughts, displayed on a screen, and I wonder if ever I too could be seen" is two in one: firstly, to movies and works of creation in general. Secondly, to Avatar, in which a combined greeting, sign of respect, and love, is "I see you". This phrase, meant as more than just "I see you standing there", is intended as a comprehensive affirmation of understanding.
I wonder if I'll ever be understood.
People may read my words, and may not, but regardless they will take their own meanings from my words (See one of my other poems, "Meaning"). In a way, this is good, as I'm a proponent of thought. However, it also carries the sting of being unknown. Even if, by some ridiculously small chance, I become famous, no one will know me. If I write a book, people won't understand me. If I give a speech, people won't hear me. If I appear in public, people won't see me.
They'll see a construct, and hear and believe whatever they want. Such are the ways of our world, ever and ever, world without end.
Surrounded by others, yet always alone.
Dying of thirst in the midst of a sea.