Stick Man
S
Sheena Blackhall
0
Altın Yaprak
Stick man, his gait is stilted
From the gape that is his mouth
A stream of eloquent words
Random and unconnected
Betray the pure source of a ruined mind
I have seen a cathedral thus,
All grace and tumbled stones
The ghosts of windows wide to winter frosts
This is the hidden hurt, the wickedest wound
Most savage cut of all
When reason is unseated from its lofty plinth
Leaving the shambles of the self
A shadow person, stumbling in the dark
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