LOSS OF PERSONALITY

Turning inward, you just look,

 you don't look inward.

 Chasing the ringed carriage

 of idyllic dreams, 

Into memories of childhood's past,

 into the unchangeable past,

 Into the blunders of your futility;

 There you dwell, who is the man

 who whispers to you the beseeching

 words of your conscience!

Thou seest merry, jumping players

 around thee- All rule-breaking,

 thou thyself imaginest,

 This must be Order in the midst of disorder!

 And the rest of thy unsuspected,

 secretly lurking helpers - tell me,

 where have they gone?!

 Thou hold'st in thyself thy individual,

 selfish hopes,

 if thou hold'st them by word

 and call your feelings by their name!

 

Your heart trembles when you have

 to decide with responsibility,

 so you ask them, and what 

they murmur into the gaping shells

 of your ears you may yet decipher,

 you may put into words like

 a message-telling hermit,

 a mute prophet in apostasy 

- you war with opinions, you argue!

 Within the immortal cauldron

 of the True Word that thou hast

 always feared, and fled from whenever

 thou shouldst have stood!

 In your selfishness you 

have consciously remained a child!

 You guarded your child-dreams with care,

 and would have proudly

 hidden yourself underground,

 to see for yourself through the mirrors

 of your host's eyes,

 the only possible guarantee of your survival:

 Cowardly flight! 

I have to think of my kicked stomach,

 and ponder how much

 I have not done, nor yet

 could have done, within

 the confines of my narrowing fears!

 And each time I have been the victim

 of a tender injury, my ears have been deafened

 by howling packs of wolves.

 - Perhaps I, too, have lost a little of my person,

 in so many changing shapes!