These
Walls (Maybe Then)
My walls said
to me on this bleak, lonely day-
"You are my prisoner. You are my slave.
Of course, there's a window. Sure, there's a door.
But there is nothing out there- for you, anymore."
So this solitary
room, for me is all that is.
Gone is everything I love, everyone I miss.
And time, it has no meaning. Here it has no place-
the hours are minutes, the seconds are days.
Maybe this
room's here to protect me,
to hide me from the sun and rain.
Maybe it's here to pacify me,
to aid me in healing from the pain.
Maybe it's
here to tell me the truth-
to show me all within, that I don't want to see.
To teach me the extent of my evil-
the deepest dark I know is inside me.
I must make
this hell my master.
I must make these walls my voice.
I must sacrifice myself to this prison,
For I really have no choice.
I must let
it kill me,
let it empty out my soul.
Let it strip me of my ideas of self,
and watch them burn like coal.
Maybe I, the
smoke, will purify-
my self, the space within this room.
Make it all pure as fresh spring water,
pure as a sense of impending doom.
Maybe then,
with my soul empty,
the smoke having cleansed my mind.
Maybe then, this room will tell me
whatever it is I seek to find.
Maybe then,
once I've found my strengths,
once I've found my frights.
Maybe then, it'll give me back my freedom,
it'll give me back my nights.
Maybe then,
I'll know the truth,
When I can look life in the face,
Maybe then, I'll know the extent of my darkness,
This hell will be my sacred place.
©
Johnelle Warren. 1994-2005.
