No Skin

I once felt almost like 
 I had no skin; 
Each fresh sensation 
 going to my bones, 
To stir the ear and eyes, 
 the heart within, 
And manifest themselves 
 in moods and tones 
 
From radios to seen 
 in others eyes -- 
From lakeside views and 
 fresh-made paradox -- 
I once felt almost like 
 I'd won a prize 
Awarded to cold lungs 
 and warming socks -- 

And though I feel now, 
 I can know for sure 
That it's a copy of 
 what once was bright; 
Like film that fades, 
 the spirit dulls, less pure, 
A ghost within, 
  A day that turns 

   to night

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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