Walking through the door seems impossible,
the invisible barriers shocking,
hurling aside this weak body of mine.
Knowing the leaving must come before, be...
before complete destruction overtakes
and creates further darkness from within.
Trembling, considering few options,
though they no longer fall silently, tears form
and the shattered pieces of my world hide.
Death will soon be the escape chosen here,
(I see no way to mend this brokenness)
and the grave will become imprisonment.
Foreign, sobriety and solitude
long to be treasures in reality.
Yet, they remain unatainable here.
How the knob to freedom turns and opens?
It seems it has been bonded and removed,
leaving me a ghost in this hidden room.
A contest entry
- Tied My Hands by A.N. Divine.
550 points, ended July 13, 2008, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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