Rupert has a soul trapped within a bubbled body,
All wobbly and loose,
Disjointed and fractious in the commanding,
A legion of signals misheard
Whilst the commander sits in the ivory tower in despair,
Distant from it all
And the world running madly around.
Through his telescope Rupert spies on life,
Getting it all wrong sometimes,
Not making sense of it,
And other times sending his spirit to the heart of the matter.
Rupert lives to survive,
Breathes to live,
But in his breathing there’s desperation,
For what is life without the living?
No life, for sure;
And so he concentrates on the breathing,
Letting sunshine in - but not too much,
It’s unforgiving
And will destroy him as surely as a butterfly trapped in a cage.
Can anyone let Rupert out?
Can anyone hear him shout?
He keeps his shouting to a minimum;
Hope rustles the leaves and wakes the dead,
But Hope has a future, and Dreams,
And Rupert has None …
This is a poem about a disabled person. Sometimes he totally misjudges situations, sometimes he’s very perceptive. He hasn’t a life; he merely exists; and some days he has to focus on the moment just to get through it all. He lets in a little joy, but not too much because that would lead to despair, and keeps a tight lid on his emotions.
This poem is about an individual, not a group of people. I met Rupert years and years ago.
