A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


Would you strip away
All that is warm with hope,
Full of promise,
With the scalpel of your curiosity,
Pare me to skeletal bone,
Enchained forever by your sight,
Your eyes,
Your knowing,
A camera, to steal another soul,
A cage, repealing flight,
A pot, in which to miniaturise,
Is that who you would have me be,
A confirmation of mortality?

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