Stifled Air Begs to Escape, a poem

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Is it safe to go outside anymore?

Is it even safe to dream?

Is it safe to open your door wide,

and see the possibilities?

For at one time –

those opportunities were endless,

but now we hide

behind shuttered windows

and bolted gates

continuous loops of virtual reality

play out their scenes behind closed doors

and huge screens shout about

all the living we have done,

all the greatness we have become

but we are dying inside,

behind closed doors

and our wounds

lay festered and bleeding.

Reality is now interwoven

with any words

that booming voices speak

over incessant airwaves

and we blindly shout out –

Tell us!

Tell us what to dream!

Tell us!

Tell us what we should speak!

Tell us!

Tell us how we should live and die and feel

behind the lines drawn between us.

Our houses creak in their own longing

the stifled air begs escape

and our arthritic hands curve

around game controllers and keyboards

frantically poised for our next exchange,

while we barely move

in the stillness of our lives

and for all that we lack,

we fill with spaces of silence.

One child lived

in this absence of beautiful sound

the absence of true meaning,

but she refused to bow

beneath their futile attempts

to quiet the longing of her soul.

She sought hope between the lines

of well-meaning words,

the prose and poetry of long ago,

and she sought meaning

from the stories of distant lives

when air was still fresh to breathe.

She took apart the theories of their day

looked beneath the cracks

in their foundation

to find the truths that history refused to speak.

She sought solace in her dreams

spun at the hours of moonlight

as she lay beneath windows

covered in newspaper

yellowed at the edges and frayed.

There was barely enough light,

but there was hope

and she strove to find meaning

to absorb the reason behind

even the little things

that made her smile.

One day,

she grew the courage necessary

to unbolt the door

that had been long closed.

She stood there, in the doorway,

hovering between –

the sweet smell of hope and promise

and where her reality lay

a silent, living death in darkness.

She cautiously stepped forward

and her footsteps carried her

in the direction of her dreams

and one by one, the other doors opened.


© Sumyanna 2017



2 Comments Add yours

  1. 7128788elf says:

    Beautiful dream, and what interesting use of the lock house. Sometimes I also wish the doors would open and the walls would fall, rather than new ones being built. Alas, alas I cried….

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Sumyanna says:

      I know exactly what you mean…

      Liked by 1 person

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