The Door
I know I left it somewhere
It was here a moment ago
Trapped
There is no point in a flare
If I die here no one will know
Foiled
Someone pretending to care
A barbed hand and eyes all aglow
Destined
It is the song in the air
It is the river’s current flow
Joyful
Do the sweet lambs ever care
Of their death, are they in the know
Resigned
I meet the fairy’s hard stare
He smiles cause he knows I can’t go
Rejected
The forest folk stop all the glare
They all see me as a foe
Forlorn
I couldn’t not bear to leave there
He dragged me wailing with woe
Finished
I will feed the nightmare
The dirt is my final pillow.
C.M. Wellsmore 