SPLIT

We live in a house with so many rooms,
where all of us roam in the darkness that looms.
We don’t always speak to each other about,
the things that our host kindly helps us sort out.

Our memories don’t always link up quite right,
so recalling things can be quite a fight.
When he, she, or me is in charge of this space,
things get confusing; it’s hard to keep pace.

We walk through the halls, but we’re never alone,
Each room has a heart, a mind, and a tone.
Their voices they blend in a quickening ride,
Some alters step forward, while others must hide.

Who is this Murdock in all this upheaval?
Who is the Sandman, a ghost or just evil?
Is Peter the host, a thread, or the seam?
Or is Mac now in charge of this complex scene?

A child is among us, almost forgotten.
A mourner’s here, too, in sad desperation.
An older man’s here who’s clearly in pain.
And the soldier protecting us all from the rain.

So help me embrace all the alters who visit.
And keep my confusion to some sort of limit.
For though we are many, we’re all of us me.
Many fish in one ocean, but only one sees.


(Singularly Plural, Linking Individuals Together)

Hi there.
Anyone have any thoughts on this poem please?
Thank you.
Macxamus