I see an image
of a man
in my wall.
Bricks breathe
shapes
I recognize.
I broke a mirror
that used to hang
where this face takes shape.
I still wear the scar.
I’m no match,
now,
for the wall;
too strong for what I have left,
or
I would crush this sight
as well.
Yet,
he,
or it,
comes unarmed;
silent –
no knife,
no stringed instrument,
no song.
A silent growth
from my brick wall;
a stain of pain now hushed.
Ah,
I’ve lost my mind I must.
A ghost it is
without rattled chain or scream.
A silent visitor.
But from where?
The past?
The present?
Or a future state of both?
But why so familiar?
This vision,
and while I’m drawing
too?
So strange.
It’s hard in the dark to draw anything new
with no view
and just a brick wall for canvas
in a darkened room
alone
and only charcoal left
to create anew.
Is this vision ash remains,
or ash coming to life?
So many questions.
But this face?
This face?
I think I’ll let it stay?
Yes,
I think I’ll let it stay.
Call me Hanq 
The psychology is compelling. The line breaks are amazing. The poem is great.
I will confess to similar scars, Henry…but my walls were made with plaster. Love the madness…the working through…fiction is an addiction…but I love to stomp through messy truths…find kindred spirits with minds as effed as my own. 😉 If I were you, I’d let it stay, because it’s quite honestly fantastic!
wow, henry, what a great write.
so much agony in these lines, the battle against madness, against self… unveiled and presented.
love this piece. amazing.
wow…from the broken mirror to your drawing…the face that is there…i like the acceptance in the end…and the feeling that we could not make it go away if we tried…
Wonderful conveying of the pic your displaying. All there is some sort of acceptance in the end as the scars build up.
Beautiful drawing and reflection of the face, the mirror of our soul, perhaps it is a stranger, but strangely familiar….we see what we hope and want to see ~
A pleasure tor read this ~
wow..the struggle of light and darkness within so exquisitely and stirringly delivered here..enjoyed reading and re-reading..truly poetic and memorable, this~
I enjoy how there is a felt sense of plummeting into the questions by the form this takes on, adds so much to the isolation that surrounds the emphasis. Love your words and thank you for you always kind remarks to mine ❤ Send love and peace ~ Rose
The image you have created with this poem is so powerful. I love the whole thing I especially appreciate the lines:
“A ghost it is
without rattled chain or scream.”
This is so potent and powerful… Really fabulous imagery, and love the end, embracing what is, acceptance, discovery.
Love the self-portrait metaphor – a self emerging, a ghost of time past, present or future. Leonardo said he learned to draw by seeing figures in the cracks of his ceiling and copying the lines and curves – turning them into art. I think you have constructed art here.
I’m sorry, I got completely interrupted while I was trying to comment. I think this is one of your finest. I am very impressed.
the dynamic really takes shape henry. The outro is significant and strong and leaves the reader with something to haunt over for a good while after the intial scanning. all the best
love that you come to letting it stay at the end…not always easy to accept us with all our scars and blemishes…good if we can make peace in the end…really cool write henry
This was very good, and your blog template really helps. Good poem.
I love your imagery here and your metaphoric content reals with sincerity and love. beautiful piece—“A silent growth from my brick wall; a stain of pain now hushed”
I enjoy what you did with this, Henry…those images we discover in textures. But the amazing this is how you’ve taken it and developed such a deep reflection, creating a layered, textured poem, too.
Thank goodness it isn’t just me. I see faces, shapes and once recognized, they never leave. Wonderful work.
I like all of this, Henry, but the words that stop me each time are:” It’s hard in the dark to draw anything new
with no view…”
Yes, hard, but not impossible, for even in the dark, we draw, create, play with words, paint the vision we learn to see without light.
Well done!
Powerful Henry,
People love this poem. But I got to tell you Henry, I had to stop trying to read it 1/3 through — click my name to find out why. I think perhaps it is my weirdness — others seem to love it.
So I have decided to do the unmentionable — I condensed this poem so I could actually read it without tons of scrolling. So that I could remember the lines. I really enjoyed the poem that way.
BTW, when I did my post on centered poems, many folks privately e-mailed me saying they agreed, but they would not say so in the comments.
Anyway, I loved the poem but would have skipped over it if I had not done the following. (nicely written, Henry)
____________
I see an image of a man in my wall.
Bricks breathe shapes I recognize.
I broke a mirror that used to hang where this face takes shape.
I still wear the scar. I’m no match, now, for the wall;
too strong for what I have left,
or I would crush this sight as well.
Yet, he, or it, comes unarmed;
silent –
no knife,
no stringed instrument,
no song.
A silent growth from my brick wall;
a stain of pain now hushed.
Ah, I’ve lost my mind I must.
A ghost it is without rattled chain or scream.
A silent visitor. But from where?
The past?
The present?
Or a future state of both?
But why so familiar?
This vision, and while I’m drawing too?
So strange.
It’s hard in the dark to draw anything new with no view
and just a brick wall for canvas in a darkened room
alone and only charcoal left to create anew.
Is this vision ash remains,
or ash coming to life?
So many questions.
But this face? This face?
I think I’ll let it stay?
Yes, I think I’ll let it stay.
Just checking 🙂 Glad it’s still here…
Just for you.