Hall in shadowed veil,
darkness looming as if sentient, prevails,
and one lone mouse scourers the kitchen floor,
the light at the end of this passage,
that leads from my bedroom door.
Tears well, echoes haunt a worried mind,
as raised voices cut the night air,
and I, trying not to care, gutted,
the ache incessant, a dull blade scraping
every nerve, every cry uttered to raise my fear.
Yet that mouse, unperturbed,
searching morsels on lino floor, twitches in the air,
early warnings from approaching danger,
the booming anger all but ignored,
on his nightly travail, for sustenance.
He is my focus, my friend,
as ears turn off to tragic ends
and still I remain, wrapped warm in pain,
as uncertainty clouds like approaching storms,
lightning flashes and heart forlorn.
Feeling numb, too scared to move,
too terrified not to, in this purgatory,
this swirling vortex of which I have no hold,
and no reprieve, until that last echo resounds
and the door slams closed.
My mouse has gone to bed,
fed enough to find slumber,
and I, wide-eyed, listening to my mother sob,
lost within her silent shame,
and the changes she does dread.
My tears spent, I close my eyes,
hoping darkness will tend my woes,
and sleep does find me, with a kind hand,
to hopefully wake tomorrow and all will be as it was,
for even pretend is better than the edge of abyss.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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