Sunday, November 27, 2016

Crab 11th July 1995

Scuttle, Fumble, Fuss.
Collect this thing, set it down.
Turn around
and go back.
Do that again - not quite right.
Clumsy armour slows me down.
Too big claws for me to drag around.
They keep scuttling and getting in the way.
Retreat to the lair
Where there is finally peace and calm,
Secretly hiding in
Soothing Silence
(Listen to the waters ebbing the rest of the world away).
Tentatively Tasting.
Hesitantly Fearful.
Make this cave a sacred place
Where no one seas my reel face.
Where I rock, to and fro in emotion's watery embrace.
Never really deciding
Where to go, what to do,
Which armour to wear today?
Forever fearful of ridicule,
Fantasised or otherwise,
In a world that is cruel
And in avoiding to look a fool
I become one.
Never content with who I am.
Who am I?
A lonely crustacean in the deepest ocean.
Fussily Scuttling.
Sillily Fussitating.
So bloody irritating.
Every minor decision
Is a major derision.
But under the deepest rock,
In the deepest sea,
Where my safe home is,
I stash away, in my private place,
A small treasure.
A tiny pearl,
A shiny shell.
The pearl, with dull lustre,
The shell, empty , but with intricate patterns.
My possesions in my sacred place.
Predictable and secure.
No surprises.
Will I grow with such a heavy and impregnable shell
for armour to protect me?
To grow I must leave the old shell behind,
Expose my vulnerable flesh.
But for the experience I will be a bigger soul,
stronger and more able to deal with what the oceans leave to me.
The death of my old shell, and thus old self,
Brings the birth of a new and stronger me.
Perhaps then I can finally be ... free.

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