I stare at the walls--
Cracks and lines and stains
Create a roadmap of troublesome times
Of a long and unspoken past
That lies beneath and all around these walls.
My breath makes whispy tendrils
That escape into the many cracks
Where they mingle with the vapid air
That lingers there--
Trapped beneath the concrete.
Behind my own wall, my vacant eyes,
My past stands at bay
And memories flood the beaches of my mind
Washing away the jagged razors in the sand
That snag and rip my brain
With the rise and fall of the tide.
No light peeks through the tangible walls
Nor the metaphopric
And soon the air is stale and sour
Now is when I notice the dust
As the walls begin to crumble--
The map desintigrates and falls
Leaving no sign of the past--nor the present--
But most alarmingly....the future.
© Copyright 2016 Phoebe Kishbaugh. All rights reserved.