Cocooned

Cocooned
©2003 Susan Noyes Anderson

He felt the world stop breathing yesterday,

and let the silence creep into his heart,

then watched as if his spirit stood apart,

recording every dream that fell away.

Dispassionate observer, cast in clay,

dazed witness to the finish of each start,

he marblized his suffering as art

gone cold, its prism colors turned to grey.

And when resuscitation came at last

(a sharp intake of breath, a gasp of air),

he sensed the life around him rushing past;

but he, cocooned within his self-styled snare,

could not escape the net that he had cast,

could not elude the teeth of his despair.




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