The Edge of My Abyss

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
- Brutal Night - March 30, 2021
- Like a Breeze Recalls - March 27, 2021
- Torrents - September 5, 2020







Such a horrible way for one (a child?) to spend the night, with fear and pain. Excellent phrasing clearly portrays the emotions and fears, Tony. Great work, very emotive.
Much appreciated my friend. Sad indeed, but a part of life and reality for many. Cheers
My friend you hit a nerve in me, Alone in My Room, I too had to focus on any living creature that befriended me. A mouse , spider or cockroach I would never harm, they were my friends in time of stress coming from beyond my room. So Tony, your words echo mine in substance worth penning as we travailed in our darkest places. The screams my dear mama sent into the stagnant air of smoke and booze as another beating on her came from the beast within our flat, cut me to my core, hardened my soul, angered and yearning death to the beast. Your words are cutting my friend, but release is good and that’s what us poets have to do.
Yes these scenes in our memories linger, for they are a part of us, our struggle and strength in overcoming these beginnings. We share so much, and being sensitive souls didn’t help our struggles. Yet here we are, pen to paper, heart on sleeve, reverberating past like ripples on a pond. Thank you my dear poet friend. take care.