That which is held most dear?

There are many people

Each holding many things dear


among them all,

There is always one thing,

recognized or not,

That no one lives without


What does everyone have

That few want

That causes some to kill themselves

and others to wish they had?


What does everyone have

That hides us all from sight

so that,

only when no one can see,

are we ourselves?


What does everyone have

That hammers can't smash

but the words of another




I wonder,

would happen

if everyone

lost them?


Without which

we are all hideous,

to ourselves,

in our minds


Without which

we are vulnerable,

scared to see

any living soul


Without which

we are

only ourselves,


and utterly


Without images we are

pure and decrepit,

strong and vulnerable,


above all,


and wishing

to be chained


Without images

We don't know who we are

Our fear takes over


Once the images are stripped away,

We only find the rotting bones

Of what never was



we keep our images

and with them,

our caged fear,

our invulnerable strength,


our lives.




This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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