poem – Page 18 – Lewis Walddren

Sensation

The sensation has vanished,

touch no longer has a hand;

connection is diminished,

I now understand.

Eyes have become the vehicle,

that steer us to blindness;

we’ve forgotten how to ride the bicycle,

to our own divineness.

Senses are secondary,

with a life surrounded by objects;

stimulation is primary,

and we are the prime suspects.

Expression is compromised,

our hearts no longer dictate;

our interests sterilised,

our voice a touch too late.

Slow to smell the roses,

fresh sweet perfume;

but time is wasted on social poses,

and we are unable to resume.

Life is a mirror,

our reflection today’s picture;

what I am I struggle to deliver,

and taste the sweet nectar.

I’ve looked up at the sky,
I’ve looked out over the ocean,
but I’ve never been so low.

I’ve danced to the music,
I’ve sang along to the lyrics,
but I’ve never been so mute.

More black than a colour,
more numb than a feeling;
how can I act if I don’t know the character?

I’ve been lost in your eyes,
I’ve been awed by that dress you wear,
but now I can’t see past myself.

What now of this colour,
that clouds my world,
and blankets my future?

If I wake as the sun rises,
with the birds in song,
I am in control.

If this moment slips by, however
I’m in dream and sleep-in,
I am lost – know not where I should begin.

Lethargy cloaks me,
I’m dormant,
a shell of a man.

Rise with the sun,
like all other living things,
and I am on my way.

Give in to sleep,
like fever,
and I am far from present.

Every morning I debate myself,
an internal dialect on repeat,
“should I or shouldn’t I?”

I often convince myself the latter,
though the former I know to be right,
avoiding the inevitable journey that lay ahead.

I really should get up.