Hell

The baby's stopped screaming. I guess that's good.
I've raised up an island of order inside of the kitchen.
The rest of the house remains a shrine for hoarders,
For thoughtless pigs. Things no one needs are piled
All over, added to daily. I shake my head. This is the
World in which I've been trapped. They'll come for
The kitchen when I go away. Why should I care?
Why won't I surrender, and go get the baby to scream?





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 19 times
Written on 2024-09-27 at 23:28

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IB M The PoetBay support member heart!
Indeed, a most apt description of hell is my immediate reaction to this. As I read each line, I very much felt the intense desire to get away form and grow. I really, really wouldn't want to be the one in such a situation. I liked the last line, really captures the dejection for me. So well-written, merci.
2024-09-28


alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
if freedom does not exist
we must recognize
that some people have under their thumb other people just as free as they are!
and that is a contradiction in the terms between being not free for everybody and at the same time not equal for all
2024-09-28