Escape

Yes, there is a way out,
a way to reclaim what has been lost,
a path back from the dark walls
that have closed you in
like a tale from Poe,
brick by brick.

That is the way walls are built,
slow and painstaking,
blocking out the light, slowly
starving the joy
into a quiet submission,
weakening it, leaving
a wastrel lying on the floor,
sobbing unheard.

But Joy is an unpredictable beast,
and animal like it will find strength
you would not have imagined,
and held too tight,
it rebels feral and unruly
and held too long,
dashes for the door.

About this poem

Joy dies slowly. And rises quickly. A phoenix of sorts.

Tom