We have no wings, to fly and soar,
we cannot escape, when our heart is sore,
what we have is emotion, which cuts down the deepest,
one cut, two cut, I’ve lost count of how many cuts,
the mountain that is human nature, reigns high among the clouds so white,
it has always been and will be the steepest.
What makes us the strongest, makes us the weakest,
A man who feels nothing has conquered immortality,
A boy who feels nothing is destined for greatness,
Feelings like those that feast in our soul,
Make us the meekest and swallow us whole.
So why do I feel,
If I am one of the few who sees all the flaws,
The dangers and troubles that bite at our heels,
To consume us and drive us into their jaws.
We consider those who do not feel,
All those dreaded people that force us to double over, wretch and reel.
But it’s simple, it’s because we are afraid of the power they know,
They are not slaves of sorrow, not fools of love,
They have the power we yearn, to fly away like a dove,
And be at peace for they do not feel.
But I feel,
I choose to feel, despite it all,
Every feeling that brushes my mind,
I take it as a blessing, a new building block that I am to find,
Whether it is love, the deepest cut of all those cuts,
Whether it is the mockery from someone,
a cut so small can I even call it a cut?
Or whether it is the sorrow, the loss of someone dear to my heart,
The feeling that I cannot go on, that I and her have finally part,
The tremor I feel, the quakes that course through me,
All part of a feeling, Which helps to build me.
I appreciate every feeling,
whether tears run down my cheeks, for she is not there,
Whether my feet are tired, whether I am gasping for air,
She is not there, I looked again, we will never be a pair.
A memory that will never ever escape, she leaves my world wide open and obliviously agape.
I am an appreciative person, there is no shame in that,
But expression has never exactly been my forte,
In fact to be honest, It’s a little bit flat,
No bubbles like glass, wafting up,
An empty glass, an empty cup,
But through words I can try,
If ever only try to say what I think.
You are unusually and unearthly, beautiful for lack of a better word,
The way you choose to go about things,
to say I’ve seen it somewhere before would be a lie,
it would be nothing short of bloody absurd.
Your personality is strong like the blade of a sword,
Read to strike and defend if need be,
And one day it will strike as you sail across the sea,
And take the world by storm, you need only perform one chord.
I thoroughly enjoyed acting with a spirit such as yours,
Flowing like the river and wetting the blades of grass,
Your complete control over what will occur,
The act whizzes by in only a blur.
It is not a play, it is not someone else.
You carve your own future,
You choose to feel and not feel yet,
As though it were actually an option,
And on you never let.
Inconspicuous, you say you like mysteries,
Ironic only in the sense that you are the greatest mystery you yourself know,
And the longer you live the mystery will grow, until one day,
You will suddenly understand.
by Paul Gracey, 17, Westerford High School, Cape Town, South Africa