The house of well-being.

The house of well-being.

A Poem by andrew mitchell

Sir! Sir! Excuse me Sir!
Yes! What is it?
We can’t find self.
Come again!
Self has disappeared.
What! Without self we are no more.
Have you tried the emotions:
happiness and sadness?
Nothing Sir.
Have you tried the vital organs?
No news from heart or lungs as yet.
Contact spirit, he’ll know.
We tried that, apparently
he’s on a long vacation
meditating high in the sky
somewhere around the stars.
Try digestion and toxicology.
We have something Sir.
It appears self has been poisoned.
Oh no! It’s too late.
What is it Sir?
Self has died.
Suddenly, I don’t feel well.
I’m fainting, fading....

© 2021 andrew mitchell


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Added on February 21, 2021
Last Updated on February 21, 2021

Author

andrew mitchell
andrew mitchell

adelaide, Australia



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Strindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more..