in memory of a friend.

i wrote this one dreary evening about a week ago when reminiscing over an old friend from high school. little was i to know that within hours of writing it, i would make a new friend, an echo of the first. weird, weirder, weirdest. that night was quite probably the most mind boggling and bending one all year.

Four White Walls

She lays not asleep
Too weak to wake
And on her soulwindows
Paperthin lids
Buffer and close off any route of escape.

Fingers rest-
Crossed over chest
Imperfect, this suspended state
My little listless
On whom do you wait
.

She has retreated
Reclused to the within,
Her shadow poised to embrace
The nettling whip thin
Her vice
That she craves.

It was all a little,
A bit too late,
Some moves are irreversible,
And some mistakes must needs to be made:
The mind is predisposed-
But life’s sinuous fingers create.
(On whom now, on whom do you wait?)

You are tired,
But I know these four white walls
Can whisper you to wake.
You own no more wisdom-

But these four white walls have seen so much
And they will remind you
That for redemption
It.Is.Never.Too.Late.

So listen to them whispering, my translucent
Tense little haunt.
Their voices are hard to hear,
But hold, my dearling, grasp what they say-

That you must rise,
Get up,
Rub the slumbering blindness out of your eyes,
And let in the outside,

No more waiting for paradigm passage to arrive-
Because while you are waiting-These four walls are where life waits to die.