Wardens Of My Art
Forever tortured by the pageBeaten down by words
A pen taping against the bars of a cage
As I pace the halls of my mind
Looking in doors to empty rooms
For the faces of my thoughts
No sound , no movement
Only white
Only white staring at me through the door of this cell
It's face a sea of untouchable possibilities.
My only cell mates are hesitation and hell.
Groping out through cool dark bars for a scrap of hope, a flicker of light.
This cell is not a small space it is as large as my mind will allow
I listen to my footsteps echo from the empty walls
I try to speak and find I have no voice at all
Language, once my friend, has left me here
Frozen and alone
The water does not run here
Nor is there food
No color is alive here
Only white
Only white and white and white and white
That pen taping against those bars minding me of my place
Words those wardens of my art
Keep waving these blank pages in my face
Poetry by Jessica Rexroat
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Written on 2006-09-24 at 06:32
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