December 1996

I am but a butterfly in a jam jar
feeding from a once lush
velvety green leaf
that now wilts and decays.

Carried along at somebody else's will I sit placidly
seemingly enjoying the ride
But inside I'm tortured and suffocating
and nobody sees.

At the sight of rolling hills punctuated
with mustard yellow umbrellared by a resonating blue sky
excitement wells within me
and Hodgkin comes to mind.

Then my spirit plummets
and I'm in the cavernous depths of despair
where the way forward is cramped, claustrophobic
dark.

All around me is the empty blackness and I am confined
by invisible constraints to this barren cocoon
All I see asleep is sleep
all I want awake is death.

Dark pictures gather in my mind now
clicking into place like the mosaics of a kaleidoscope
I close my eyes
Trusting.

Through the lamp black sleep
I visualise faint colours shifting and
the soft lustre of my golden soul becomes evident
I will not say that I lost it, my burning sun
but it was taken.

The colours behind my eyes
become more saturated
and I move across
to the freedom of the night.