"When did my sanctuary
become a prison?..."
Orange glow - shimmers bright,
behind the mirror.......
slide the door… and relieve the emptiness.
Fills these eyes, with lucidity and purpose,
gives the brain a chance to stretch a bit,
and rest...
yet somehow I regress.
My thoughts are haunting,
every corner inside of me.......
ragged edges...... that will not dissipate.
Illusions grand - but they are only temporary,
slap-scratch to feel - beyond...
my own selfish hate...
a chill I can’t escape.
When did my sanctuary
become a prison?.......
comfort-zone smothers... so I can not breathe.
To be free of walls I built, with my own hands,
please tell me how I became...
my own worst enemy...
my greatest fear is me...
Copyright © 2009 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written February 2009
Known in many (albeit small) online circles over the past 15 years, Stone Bryson is a poet, storyteller, and essayist. He is working on various writing projects, and lives what he describes as an 'analog life.' He resides in Jackson County, Missouri.