Saturday, January 23, 2010

"The Shell"

Living grows round us like a skin,
to shut away the outer desolation
For if we clearly mark the furthest deep,
we should be dead long years before the grave
But turning around within the homely shell of worry,
discontent and narrow joy,
we grow and flourish and rarely see the outside dark that would confound our eyes
Some break the shell
I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole
And through this cruel slit they stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes
They look both out and in
Knowing themselves and too much else besides.

By: Molly Drake (Artist, Poet and Musician, mother of British folk musician Nick Drake)

No comments:

Post a Comment