Again and Again and Again

in the Glass Cage
By: the iHope Poet

He doesn't see the shape of his own golden scales,
his fins, or his stubby sheer tail
before it's too late. He's up against the glass again.
And again, and again, and again.
Each time, he rears back from the roadblock
and remembers, dimly, the reflection of his little fish body
that the wall of his cage reveals in the light.

Yet, in a matter of seconds, his focus retreats
and the glass rushes back, quite close to his face until -- clink!
And again. And again.

Maybe the incessant idea of escape --
of the world beyond, which he could see so clearly --
maybe it caused him to forget where he was and what he was.
And for every clash against the barrier, for every
ripple of water that faded the mirror of his essence away,
the urge to break free was reinforced;
driving his dull mind to madness.

Oh, the insanity! That final push that leaves his body
floating on the surface.
Is freedom what he tastes in the water now,
having grasped this fateful reverie?

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Note: ever wonder why a goldfish will hit the side of his bowl, back up, and hit it again? I learned that they do this because in those few seconds that elapse between their running into the glass and backing up upon realizing they were hit, they forget everything that just happened, and then continue forward. Again.

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The damage that this consistent forefront attack must have on their body has some pretty long-term affects,   I'm sure. It must be quite difficult to remember what's blocking their path when the barrier is see-through and their minds are suffering so.