The walls close in, distorted,
Funneling me toward a door
That separates my soul from the divine.
Through the keyhole lies a world
Whose edges fade into the space
Between truth and lies.
A river of grief flows among the brambles,
Scorching its way across a blackened plain.
It’s arms scrape meaning
From dirt that hides the past.
I watch as the years fade into millennia
And leave me gasping for air
Choked with sadness
For a life I did not lead.

Original Photograph