Ego Fluidity

Maybe there IS something to Mr. Hyde. Could he be our id, as suggested here?

Permit into Nature

Restless

Mesmerized at the view which summons

Which tears at fibres of a soul which yes! is at the essence of me

I jerk at the trumpeter’s boastful call and face the mountain,

is it hazy or are my eyes inoperative from idleness, from deskbound futility

The green evokes a rush of reminiscing tears, and for a moment I am engaged with the only landscape able to make me feel

My insides rebel and scream, but my body stays still like an institutionalized automa

While even the parched blades of red grass are roused

by fluttering bronze manikins

Allow me a moment of misery as I am denied revival

as I grudgingly turn my stiff back on the rapture of arching trees

and deposit my spirit back into fetters out of sunlight’s caress

Wanting nothing more than a passport into, no! a residence permit, in Nature.

Why I must see mankind about this, I will never understand.

Should I be like the bushpig which left its foot in the snare to be free?