untitled poem

I feel it might be a little Kubla Kahn to write up a dream but i feel it's strangely haunting like the opening passages of Notes from the Underground (and yes, i flatter myself by that comparison with Dostoevsky) and it expresses a feeling i am attached to quite well. Of course i would love to hear some comments on how people would alter it.

He traipses along the platform,

the day receives the sun,

with a briefcase in his hand

he trudges on.

Few notice that the case is cuffed to his left wrist,

fewer that it carries only water.

The water changes state

depending where he is.

Sometimes it's steam and barely hinders

but as ice it's cold and heavy

and it encumbers every moment.

But this case, it has a faulty clasp

so people can sometimes open it,

sometimes it just knocks something he walks by

then everything

                          pours

                                  out.

In the shallows of the day

and the shadows of a train

he does not want people to see the contents of his case

so he scrambles picking up shards of ice that have shattered in this place.

But his left hand is hindered by the empty box

so he scrambles and he dwindles with his right.

It is his burden to bear

but even if he were unshackled

he would again bind himself.

Although he hates the contents

he knows his die is cast

so he picks it up again as the controller ambles past.

Though it is hard and hinders him

as he must take it everywhere,

the alternative is living without it

and that he could not bear.

For the guilt would eat him just as surely as Lady Macbeth saw a spot,

and the pain itself is comfort that he can pay his lot.

For forgetting is worse than hindrance;

freedom worse than pain,

for if you forget

or lay the memory down

the moment that it comes back

is worse than the combined hell of the perpetual case sodden by the rain.