Prison of Walls
Poem for Day 350 – 20151217
I dreamt of a prison of walls
surrounding my soul in their breadth
topped by razor thin wire
made by the sound of my breath.
Echoes of silence rebound
in halls filled with nothing at all.
Treading the stairs to nowhere
both attic and cellar are bare.
Intimate is all that I have
with ghosts and my heavy soul.
Connections are only as real
as those still absent evermore.
Rejoice for sanity gained
from madness of shared circumstance.
Everyone that should be here now
are present in this empty room.
The chairs are set for the sup
with nobody sent an invite.
The phone hangs unused on the wall
the texts may no longer flow.
The prison of walls manifests
from life's separation of souls.
Beware the razor thin wire
when the tools of connection are shorn.
© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.