The Bell. Poem by Luke Nicholson

My bell is broken.

Swirling.

Cusp it. You are seen.

Wont call for another, i have me.

The missing piece is not in another. It just hasn’t been found within me.

I am my own strength not contingent on the contact of another.

Another.

Swirling.

Wonders.

It is the depth of that you fear.

Do not adore the black but challenge it with your shade of dark blue.

Fall deeper.

What deep eyes are meant for.

Black surrounds. Strength in me.

My bell is broken. You cannot see.