Time.
What had become of me?
My hopes had passed away,
though I'd pretend
I could simply recreate them again.
A winter's day
a deep and dark December
I was alone
gazing out my window
to the streets below
on a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow
I was a rock
I was an island
because a rock feels no pain
and an island never cries.
I'd look around,
the leaves were brown
and the sky was a hazy shade of winter.
There was a patch of snow on the ground, cold and distant.
Walls.
I built walls
I lived in a fortress deep and mighty
that none could penetrate
my eyes were stabbed
by the flashes of neon signs
reflecting off pools of frozen emptiness.
I talked, but did not speak
I heard, but did not listen
My words
like silent raindrops fell
and echoed in the wells of silence.
I blew like a cold wind over a open field.
I had no need of friendship or love
for they had caused me pain
It was laughter and loving I'd disdain
I was a rock
I was an island
because a rock feels no pain
and an island never sighs.
I would not talk of love.
I’d heard the word before-
still sleeping in my memory.
Like a vision, softly creeping
its seeds planted in my brain
growing into a restless dream...
I'd walk alone
beneath the halo of a streetlamp
I turned in the cold and damp
and you were there
but I dared not disturb the slumber
of such feelings that have died...
which I now regret.
If I never loved
I never would have died
I was a rock
I was an island
I'd feel what I'd want to feel
and disregard the rest
I had my books
and my poetry to protect me.
I was shielded in my armor.
Hiding in my room, safe within its womb
I touched no one, and no one could touch me.
In my anger and my shame
I was a rock
I was an island.
A rock feels no pain.
An island never tries.
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