Saturday, October 20, 2012

The Shell by Molly Drake (Nick's Mother)

Living grows round us like a skin
To shut away the outer desloation
For if we clearly mark the furthest deep
We should be dead long years before the grave
But turning around within the homely shell of worry, discontent and narrow joy
We grow and flourish and rarely see the outside dark that would confound our eyes

Some break the shell 
I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole
And through this cruel slit, stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes

They look both out and in
Knowing themselves and too much else beside

—    The Shell, Molly Drake