I am an Island
A page in the diary ""
Written by keller 13. Jul 2008 06:07 PM
Alone among many again, he asks me how I am. Moreover, I do not lie but I am not truthful either. I cannot begin to tell you about the mess my mind is in about the thoughts I have. The oscillation between the will to live and the passion to let go.
My hands are cold; my boys’ laughter fills the hallway of my home. The one I built with corporate blood sweat and tears, the one that houses my family, my collectables, my music making and my connections to the world.
For all intents and purposes I could be happy. Achievement measured in things, prosperity delivered in generosity, art portrayed in songs and art that hang to my walls. Or I could be content. To have birthed two healthy intelligent handsome and generous sons, my mark left for future footsteps to walk down the paths.
I could feel adored. A handsome man beside me, loving me, holding and helping me. My partner for life. I still do not tell you how it is now. Cannot. Will not she would say with question?
This means more than I can say
A winters day
In a deep and dark December;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I’ve built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
Its laughter and its loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Don’t talk of love,
But I’ve heard the words before;
Its sleeping in my memory.
I won’t disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved, I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.
(By Paul Simon 1965)