Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 22
My bare feet pace the same dust again
In this prison of old, weathered wood
And shattered china that was priceless once

Value is fleeting
Freedom is temporary
Why do you all take it for granted?

Sightseers are waiting for me downstairs
Another audience fascinated by the macabre
Expecting a grand performance
From me, the circus animal
Oh, how I mourn my dignity

I know how this story ends
It happens every time
And yet, my cold feet pad down the staircase again
As if new characters will change the denouement

My fingers brush against the blood-stained paintings
Portraits of those long dead
Swallowed by eternal rest
How I envy them

I step into the ocean of shattered glass without so much as a second thought
Here I am
I hope you're entertained

They stare at me with their terror spangled eyes
Some sort of sick intrigue
Their mouths ajar, spilling deafening breaths
Their scent and sound and image so sharp
I am hazy and dull, unfocused
But they are cuttingly crystal clear

Help
Can you help me?
I'm alone, and injured, and trapped
My hair is sticky with blood
You have to get me out of here

Please don't leave me alone again
Why are none of you LISTENING to me!?
I've been through this before
My voice is muddled, nothing more
Than an underwater scream

And it chased them away
Leaving me to wander the abandoned hallways again
There is nothing else to do
Nothing

The dust does not part for me
The oaken floors of the upstairs welcome me back
To the reality that I am trapped
In a prison of wood
And of my own ancient mind
Isabella Terry
Written by
Isabella Terry  Tennessee
(Tennessee)   
116
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems