How does
the heart
still pump,
how does
the blood
still run
when these
feet won’t move?
How do
the bones
not break,
how does
this skin
not shed
when these
hands cannot hold?
We dress
ourselves in
solid shields
of security
(see this shining steel)
that cannot sooth
the single soul
still shivering
in a body
still pumping,
still running,
still searching
for the answer…
are we
a whole story
here alone
and naked
and beating
and pumping
and bleeding
and crying
and crawling
through the hope
or just a half truth,
never truly told,
never really held,
never fully realized?
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Damien B. Donnelly 
Beautifully put. Are we, without someone to tell us that we are?
Thanks Jane. I wonder if the story is shared, then will it ever be heard?
With the one you share it with, it will đ
I meant to say ‘not shared’ or did I?
Beautiful, Dami!
I feel reminded of my favourite Austrian poet Erich Fried, who said in the 3rd verse of his poem “Dich” (You), which is about letting a loved one be all that they are:
“Wer nur die HĂ€lfte liebt
der liebt dich nicht halb
sondern gar nicht
der will dich zurechtschneiden
amputieren
verstĂŒmmeln”
“Those who only love one half
do not love you half
but not at all
they want to cut you in shape
amputate
mutilate”
(Did my best with the translation. The full poem in German script and audio is here: http://bit.ly/2B6R5HR )
Much Love,
Steffi
Thank you Steffi, and thank you for the introduction to Fried, I just listened to his poem and was intrigued- I’m off to discover more. Hope you are resting well and enjoying the seasons offerings.
Huge hugs damiX
The story is there, but perhaps it changes when it is shared.
There’s a lot to think about here, Damien. Wonderful photo, too.