Count me out – I’m not coming: I can’t muster the strength
To exhale: I am drowning, and don’t want to be saved
/
I don’t want to be dragged up this thin shot-line to noise
I’m at home here – it’s quiet, but for my mind’s own voice:
/
It says I’ve got a mother; I reply: ‘but she knows…’
It says I’ve got a sister yet, she recalls me not
/
It says I love the mountains, and to read, and to smile;
I reply: ‘there is nothing that I love – you are lying,’
/
It insists I’ve a chance still to undo all my wrongs
But beyond good and evil there is no one I owe;
/
It begs that I forgive those who have hurt me to death
But I couldn’t, I’m sorry: I’m not as good as this
/
Then, it whispers a prayer to a god in some tongue
And I give it a moment till its voice is all gone
/
Gone’s the line I was holding, gone my breath, gone all hope;
The screams of pain from my chest let me know I’ve reached home
/
Count me out – I’m not coming: I can’t muster the strength
To keep myself from leaving shallow waters for depth
I feel the pain from this. Very powerful words!
Thanks for your response, Maggie! The speaker to me seems more indifferent to what’s happening to her/him than really hurt by it – maybe because one gets used even to the most unbearable pain if it gnaws at one ceaselessly.
If I did not know I might have identified these thoughts as emanating from Carl at stillfugue.
Thanks, Carl! I’ll take is a compliment as opposed to an accusation of plagiarism ;).