by Francesca Morosi

Created on: November 07, 2008   Last Updated: November 08, 2008

What's that light behind the door?

Is it really you my deserted love?

A verdict with no trial was reached

I was no one to be loved

His treasure chest was full of rust

The bars of my hutch like solid steel

I could see my own reflection in their shine

A misty morning I walked that path again

Spotting a minute squirrel under a trap

I hushed my pavid spirit and turned back

I embraced the fog

Let it be my own respite

No wish to be found

In my hollow rebound

Was it me or my own delusion?

A tear dropping from my frozen eye

A frightening hope

A despair of bliss

Too much

Not now

I am not ready...

My tongue like a sharp razor

You stumbled back

Your muddy boots on my carpet

A childhood memory hits me

Oh no

Not now...

My father words in your defining talk

Cannot stop this

Cannot...

A sadden buzz in the conscientious wits

A fidget from prolonged idleness

Dithering then diverging

A metaphor of my own tussle

Cannot believe what it is

That trembling flash between the darkened curtains

Poorly a figment of my own imagination?

Oh no, this is all too real...

You brought me back in my house of colours

Drawing parabolas of non gravity

I jumped into them.

Learn more about this author, Francesca Morosi.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.