Cocoon

Looking in to the blue 
the dome of incarceration
that seems at once to be
infinite and minuscule 
trapped into my limited view
from the cast iron chair
sanded and repainted
on the power washed patio
beside the perfectly cut lawn
partially shadowed by treated fence
bordered with hard trimmed shrubs
the tasks that once seemed
Innumerable have become 
repetitious as I await regrowth
that once again can be curtailed.


Pondering the framed sky
no vapour trail adornment
it is not limitless yet never ending
like the days of solitude
that are a mouse wheel
the canopy of stratosphere
is the dark and light manifest 
of irrelevant moving time
that has been slowed by loneliness
lost without its master of routine
I am a victim of cocooned survival.

Ciaran Burke
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