If you really knew me,
Maybe you'd see,
Through my drowsy blue eyes
Into a raging sea.

Like crows, your sight flies
to the sparkling sheen coating my irises,
The glimmer of a thousand tiny pearls.

But they are a legacy,
Far too romantic for the tidal wave that
Dumped them in my world.

A willow tree hides
at the edge of the orchard,
Streams of withered leaves
veiling its stooping trunk.

Struggling to survive,
Its roots are sparse and fractured,
And its brittle branches snap -
At the lightest gust.

All will for life,
Seemingly ******
Into the soil.

But within the crumbling walls of bark,
Its rings of wisdom lie.
Tales of brutal storms surpassed,
Etched between the lines.

They are not scars,
but stories.
Of ancient solitude, distress,
Yet the labyrinth of spirals
guides the way to peacefulness.

As the days grow shorter and
the dew begins to run,
The branches are stripped
of their facade.

No leaf will ever live to see
All corners of the sun,
But the dusty inner halos
will still glow beneath the bark,

Endlessly.

Eternal beauty;
always found
at the heart
of a willow tree.

Trapped long enough
and the outside becomes a blur.
There's life beyond these walls,
But nothing left in my world.

If I could just recall
The sun's warming touch,
Or a child's beaming smile,
Perhaps I'd find a reason to keep going for a while.

But here there's only dark;
The world and I, miles apart,
Emotions numbed and reality crushed
Time swings to the heavy beat of my heart,
Slowing.
And I hear the last bolt slam shut -
This meaningless existence,

Closing.

Emptiness.

On the floor in the dark room,
Paralysed.
The occasional lightbulb flicker
Brings some hope back to my blue-glazed eyes,
But it's a mere distraction.

I imagine that the lightbulb can see;
Awake when it's shining,
Otherwise asleep.
In the light I seem free,
My body moves. My voice, it speaks,
Speaks like the one it once belonged to,
Before the locked room lost its key.

The bulb will never see
The ******* the ground,
Or the shelves that collapse
Silently, as tears tie her down.

So why am I surprised,
That the lightbulb never stays?
Through its eyes, the room is a palace
With a princess, troubles seemingly erased.
How would it know of the dungeon
That is formed where she lays?

Darkness, once more.