My head is run through with boys,
boys and boys and boys
and the occassional girl too.
The boys of past, present and future…
they crowd in and crawl down deep inside of me,
a great shame, a great shame, a great sickness.
A great runny sense of love pity and vulnerability
run right through me. A great wobbly soft centered
neoursis of woe and fear of doubt. A great sickness
that comes from living too safely, mollycoddled,
baby faced and puke sweet. I need a great lesson learned.
But I am not alone! Never…
Everybody has emotional problems.
The postman, the priest, the banker,
the pensioner, the cleaning assistant,
the care worker, the self-employed hack,
the new born baby, the little girl,
the friendly smiling stranger.
Every one of them soft and sensitive: pliable.
All yokes of protective heart and worry
beneath a shell of endurance
it is quite the cliche but it is true!
the great face we put on of
having our hands around life
having a firm grip on the thing
it is the feeling that the weight of our
feeling, our love, our humanity, should
reap some reward, that it should become
tangible, be recognised, result in some
transformation…but it doesn’t! It fades to death.
But we pass the torch on…in a million different ways…
keeping everything alive just long enough
to keep everything alive.