Broken Memory House
There is a child in the attic, he is locked inside.I can feel him
pacing, pacing frantically backwards and forwards.
He has no where to
go but like a clock pendulum forever swings back and forth searching for a way out.
Your prison
is like a maze they say there is an exit route
but there are no signs
to offer the how and where.
I feel his frustration bubbling over,
building up until
he screams inside my closed walls for room to speak reverberations knocking soundlessly.
But he,
is the calm one,
the reason,
whose utterance means so much more
than any garbled consonants
that fall from between my lips.
He is chanting now. Asking for help.
I fall silent.
I have no answers for him I cannot help him.
Poetry by Kyusson
Read 308 times
Written on 2017-10-20 at 10:39
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