MJD, poem: The Head

The Head
My head, my head, the shape of my owl head, with bone like Steel that protects a mush – which controls how I feel. I may Look good, I may look strong, but such a mask that strings all Along.
We work, we play from day to day, tricking ourselves that we are Ok. We must provide and bolster strong for who else but Ourselves will do it at all. We like to laugh and hate to cry, these Mixed emotions running high.
For control we think is in our grasp; nativity allows cracks in the Clasp. Cracks not formal for eyes to see, but always show, in the Faces to be.
Take heed of these, spiritual signs; for energy within, can get us By. Take stock from time to time, how deep inside these cracks Run dry.
For its all part, of keeping the head, the only thing that can keep Us undead. Our souls know when enough is enough and take Our spirit under cuff. It is time to nurture and take self care, as The mental game of life does not play fair. Seek love and Happiness, truth and respect, for these things bring out our best.
Sometimes we need to press pause and say stop; one day our Soul is no longer on the clock.

Published by MJDWRITES

Thinker, fantasiser, reader, writer.

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