Black Cloak

I twist and weave fibers

Made of my own sinews,

I zigzag stitches that go

Around, and then, unseen,

On the wrong side continue.

Light does not penetrate this

Thick robe, and Truth, being

Patient and wise, does not probe.

No, She waits and watches as

I stitch, unstitch, bend, and

With mournful eyes, She smiles

At my foolishness as I pretend.

My cloak and hood are

Nearly complete, and when

I stand black as the night

Covered from head to feet,

I’ll have complete victory, and

Total defeat.

 

Reviews

[Davidgeo]

This is good stuff. You describe the mask we create for ourselves very well. While we all do this, some of us are forced to do this a different way for one reason or another. Some ways are far more healthy/functional than others. And some people just get lucky and their life circumstances cater to their personality disorder. Most of us live the other way around, our neurosis has to cater to reality, which can be quite painful at first. Depending on how dysfunctional your baseline is of course.