Withdrawal Into a Prison of Thought

The heartbeat beats, beats, beats.

It's all that I can hear.

It beats out a path, it beats, beats,

I don't even have to steer.

And on the path of mysteries

My footsteps beat alone.

Steps in ones and two and threes;

These stumbles are all I've known.

The path is black, polished black,

A polished deep black stone.

I watch the ground, my face stares back

And shows me what I've shown.

I wonder, wonder, wonder if...

If I could stop and turn

What lies behind, beyond the cliff,

The cliff my shoulders form.

For I am the edge, the very edge

Of my existence here

On the path, the path I pledge

To walk, however sheer

However sheer my terror, my fear...

However fast hearts beat,

There is no turning back, I fear,

Till now and future meet.

And when the heartbeat meets its beats,

When all things―all things―end,

What possessions, or what feats

Compare to one good friend?

What can I do or think or say,

Say or want or make,

That won’t be bloodied rags someday,

That won’t start seeming fake?

But now I hesitate and wonder,

Doubt my own assumption;

Wonder wonder, did I blunder?

Did I pay attention?

The heartbeat beats, beats, beats,

My footsteps beat a path,

But on that path beside me fleets

A footstep kin to wrath;

Akin to wrath, to strength, to hope,

Again, to light and awe,

A friend, a brother, king and pope,

A God without a flaw.

I follow the path alone, indeed;

It’s true: my heart, it beats

Single and unaccompanied,

In a row of empty seats.

But solitude can go so far

Before it’s too extreme.

Even day has its own star,

And coma patients dream.