To learn so young the art of survival
Assist in keeping family secrets safe
Paper over the crumbling brickwork
Tissue the next seismic shock shreds

Hope and Despair – Comfort and Rejection
Siamese twins turned Indian givers
Left fearful now of any scrap of warmth
Left hating herself the final betrayal

A secret journal the one thing at least
She has some chance to keep sacred
A lifeline through these shameful years
Now become her free psychotherapy

Stabs at writing, at painting with words
“Painting by numbers about my limit”
Moans, “Can’t even keep to the lines”
“So best abandon this clumsy sketch”

Left adrift in the throes of thrashing chaos
A tearful maelstrom, roaring in the silence
The sun and moon, heaven itself devoured
And the earth winding down into silence

Wary of a lurking nervous breakthrough
Judged best left incomplete, this picture
So let the reader allocate the meaning
When satisfied click “Save Changes”


An earlier version of this, entitled “The Lost Sock” was posted in March 2012. I have removed it.

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on August 9, 2013, in Poetry, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. A moving and truth filled write Ben. Thank you for sharing it.

    Liked by 1 person

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