The room darkens and distances as
Patrick ten Brink
I wrap, wrap, wrap myself in black,
silken sentences, turning slowly
until I stand inside my cocoon and
let myself fall backwards onto the sofa
in my warm echo chamber of words.
To anyone watching, I’d be the strangest
sight – a giant cocoon rising and falling,
breathing, my heart beating in slow,
disturbing motion. It would be fair to fear
what creature I’ve become after this
alien chrysalis and metamorphosis.
But this is not a gothic poem nor a
disturbing tale to warn us of words, but an
invitation to join me. When alone, take a book,
wrap yourself in the poems, tempt them from the page
and sink into their embrace. When morning comes,
break open the cocoon and step out, emerge, reborn.
I won’t lie to you, you won’t have wings
that catch the light, nor compound eyes that
startle your friends. I have not tempted you into an
insect metamorphosis. When you emerge anew, refreshed,
renewed, your face and skin will look the same, but
your eyes will have a new lens and behold a very different world.
Photo: Jose De La Cruz
Read our “Camouflage” issue in full
RAWGUE.’s 4th issue delved into the grey, moody, and cold atmosphere of winter. Yet it did not sink into the depths of madness or depression. Instead, it embraced this season of hibernation, allowing 31 artists from all over the world to present their timid work beneath a veil of quiet beauty.
Patrick lives in Brussels; by day he works to protect the environment, while his spare time is devoted to writing poetry, short stories and advancing two novels. He writes lyrical speculative literary work, sometimes as poems and sometimes as stories. His poetry has appeared in The Berlin Literary Review, Beyond Words, Dreamers Creative Writing, Honeyguide Literary Magazine, Maya’s Micros, LEAF and The Belfast Review. His poetry chapbook, Urban Enigmas, was published by Dipity Press.
