Poem: The Living Corpse
Externally, those gleaming eyes kindle a fire burning with passion.
Internally, they have no hope and no one to see but the faces of
those who give the bearer of these eyes nothing but trouble.
Externally, that fair-skinned face looks white like
freshly fallen snow on a gorgeous winter morning.
Internally, it has withered, is pale like death, in need of
a revival, and in need of a glow that will shine once
the bearer of this drained soul is free from its tormentors.
Externally, those firm hands look so steady and
capable of lifting any weight without hesitation.
Internally, they resemble the tin hands of a robot,
doing the given task without making a sound,
continuously working daily for hours on end.
Externally, that tall figure looks so bold and brave,
so modest, all dressed up and ready to go to work.
Internally, it is hollow like Tin Man, standing upright,
and working like a slave with no one to look after it.
Externally, he is a handsome young lad who works
hard day and night to live a long and prosperous life.
Internally, they have no hope and no one to see but the faces of
those who give the bearer of these eyes nothing but trouble.
Externally, that fair-skinned face looks white like
freshly fallen snow on a gorgeous winter morning.
Internally, it has withered, is pale like death, in need of
a revival, and in need of a glow that will shine once
the bearer of this drained soul is free from its tormentors.
Externally, those firm hands look so steady and
capable of lifting any weight without hesitation.
Internally, they resemble the tin hands of a robot,
doing the given task without making a sound,
continuously working daily for hours on end.
Externally, that tall figure looks so bold and brave,
so modest, all dressed up and ready to go to work.
Internally, it is hollow like Tin Man, standing upright,
and working like a slave with no one to look after it.
Externally, he is a handsome young lad who works
hard day and night to live a long and prosperous life.