Moon in the window
Late night riser, past the full;
Pale, cold, white and dead.
A pale distraction
Dissociative focus
Object of escape.
A hurt eight-year-old
Seeks to flee his own bedroom
His last refuge gone.
No one hears or knows;
Two a.m.’s heart of darkness
Envelops the room.
His own young mem’ry
Shattered, scattered, exploded
Childhood lost and gone.
Was it once? Or was it more?
Does it matter? And it was.
He still is missing.
No comments:
Post a Comment