Do we need that extra turn?
The fine tune?
The last twist of the nerves’ strings?
Back here, the tension has its own smell,
A fierce scent,
A razor-strop to make the nerves spin.
So do we need to twist the tuning peg?
Waiting for the cue. The pointe in time.
We live these low-lit, twi-lit, lime-lit worlds,
These gleaming globes
Complete within their fourth wall.
Our gleaming worlds are our shell, our armour
And our carapace,
Our babies and our mothers’ arms.
We let the big world in, from time to time;
Open our doors,
Let them sit in rows outside the open wall.
They should know their place: outside our worlds.
We need no grit
In our oyster to make pearls.
Edward is a lecturer and writer, mostly on business and politics. He often posts twittaku (double haiku in 140 characters) on Twitter, plus the occasional political limerick.