The Mansion is covered in vines,
Its hallways are whispering streams;
The arches are hanging with flowers
And even the old Treehouse dreams.
There is so much peace in this quiet:
I feel as though I had died.
There's a grave in the back of the garden
That I cannot close, though I've tried.
The hallways are shadowed by memories,
And statues that used to have souls
Are guarding the echoing chambers,
And watching the crumbling holes.
Some rooms have the flitting projections
Of people who could have been here
If the wall outside had not grown from
Seeds planted by hatred and fear.
There's a song that glides through the mazes,
And floating up each stair
Repeats in endless echos:
"Is anyone – anyone – there?"
There used to be so many people
And new ones arrived every day,
But since I locked myself up here
Their voices have faded away.
Soft golden sunlight spins dances
Upon the great hall's white floor.
I think of those lying beneath it,
But I can't get down anymore.
I tricked myself into thinking
That they were all waiting for me
To come down and free them from sleep, or
To go out and bring back a key.
But the truth is the Labyrinth trembled,
And after it trembled, it broke.
Its walls cracked and fell all to pieces;
Its fall filled the Mansion with smoke.
Now there's no way out of the Mansion,
No doorway, or tunnel, or room.
I built it to give my dreams a Home;
I've turned it into my tomb.
There's a grave in the back of the garden
That I cannot close, though I've tried.
There's a hole in the front of my chest, and
I think it's where my heart died.
YOU ARE READING
Ikigai
PoetryI had to let go to grasp my loss. I had to get lost to find my way. I had to fall to stand for what's right. I had to leave the old To arrive at the new. This is my journey from goodbye to farewell.
