An Igloo In My Brain

I have a little igloo,
Deep inside my brain.
It's walls are made of blocks of ice,
It's shingles frozen rain.

It's lodged somewhere in my head,
An icy blue refrain.
It's the place I tend to go,
When I go insane.

I have an Indian's tee-pee,
Setup in my room.
It's cone-shaped and kind of creepy,
It keeps my mind consumed.

It's filled with sacred visions,
And hieroglyphic scenes.
No one else can see it there,
Erect inside my dreams.

I live inside a wigwam,
Curled up tight and worn.
In a fetal position,
Safe from trepid storms.

I come out late at night,
When most are safe and warm.
I roam streets on the internet,
Avoiding social scorn.

I go to my tree house,
Searching for an escape.
It's sits up high in tree tops,
Covered by leafy capes.

No one ever sees me there,
Those down on the ground.
They never think to look straight up,
Instead just look around.

I have a buzzing beehive,
That sits between my ears.
It's alive with flying insects,
Feeding on my fears.

When I try to silence it,
The louder it seems to get.
The only remedy I can find,
Is trying to forget.

I wish I were an Eskimo,
An In-jun, bird or bee.
A person that nobody knows,
Someone else but me.

I'd climb into my igloo,
My wigwam or tee-pee,
Tree house or buzzing beehive,
Just so I'd be free.

All are dwellings that I seek,
Retreats from social pain.
Houses of mental shelter,
Igloos in my brain.



Copyright © February 2010
Kevin Mooney

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