The Cocoon










This night,

It hasn’t dressed me for the morning:

I’m still in a cocoon

Of interwoven blacks and blues


Staring at dawn,

I cannot feel daylight returning,

Or touching me –

It’s just a colour, of no use


To me,

A terribly disturbed spectator,

Watching an artist’s brush,

Envying him his muse


To me,

Self-tried and sentenced perpetrator,

Sharing the maze-like cell

With my self-righteous jury



I put my hands over my eyes and

I sew them up

With threads as strong as needles


I lock my nightmares

From the outside world within me:

They’ll be

The only things I see for years


I’ll write of them

And paint them with my blind hands;

One day

I’ll hear you ask me: ‘what is that?’


I won’t reply;

With monsters pushing through

My numb lips,

I’ll go to sleep in my cocoon instead

4 thoughts on “The Cocoon

  1. Definitely the torment felt by Van Gogh if one has the ability to empathize. Is that one of his paintings? If not the artist has captured the style most accurately.

    1. Thanks for your comment, Carl! It’s one of my favourite paintings – ‘At Eternity’s Gate’; Van Gogh shot himself within a few days of finishing this piece.

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