Poem

I Shed My Shelter

When a man bleeds- but why say just men;

Women bleed as well, and just as much and just as well;

When one bleeds, needs, is held captive or hung-

Oh, do they bleed! But what they bleed is not blood.

Only, they bleed their rationality, their casual ways;

They can bleed fairies and dust and some of the sun’s rays;

I’ve seen crystal pour out from the hand of a man;

He had lost his home, his friends, yet did not demand-

A shelter; or anything else, yet the crystal shed;

Whilst the blood was red.

“I shed my shelter, I shed the unnecessities,

I shed the false and the unneeded casual voids and vacancies,

I shed my old ways, my days strung out like a movie reels,

All these were my shelter, but the shelter was not real.”

The salt and sand hold these shelters up;

I have shed my shelter and built a home on rock, but-

Will you give yours up?

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