Ladders

Cellar sight groping where light is just denial's myth,
stumbling over ladder on way to resignation's corner,
footsteps heard pounding from main floor,
singing a chant of basement splendor
to drown out their tones.

Smell of baking pastries from kitchen
claws at insides, reminders of feasts
missed by dining on canned goods requiring no change,
enough, the mind regales,
for steps on rungs leading to taste
carry danger they might break.

A thousand voices utter their staircase horrors,
sounding more hideous in perennial darkness,
clutching the tattered rug used as mattress,
it is covered in dirt and full of holes,
but still better to the hands
than risk of splinters if climbing towards next level.

Tales told in head to appease the panic demons,
but the noise clamoring from above
becomes a wand to weave over the anxieties.

Desperation's warrior possesses the spirit,
deciding it better to die on way to hope
than sucking on fear's formaldehyde.