Fortress Walls

 

Fortress Walls

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fortress Walls

This night the poet turns in

bed and wrestles with his

fears while shadows dance

like twisted marionettes

pulled by strings of insanity

in his room.

 

Alone and still his eyes squint

in poorly lit room and sweat

begins to bead on brow he

smells his fears.

 

While shadows cast on window

pane and mock him with disdain

for being a man of letters yet

cursed by his father’s name.

 

The raven perched outside his

window watches from a lonely

tree hollowed out by gnarled

time of long ago it gazes with

cracked beak and trembling

feathered breast.

 

This poets shame controls his

very soul while ghostly images

of hidden faces and sacred places

of evil family’s haunt behind

his fortress walls.

 

Moving from the bed his trembling

hands are searching in the dark

for fear of being touched by bony

fingers reaching out to pluck him

from his bed and still the rhythm

of his heart while howling winds

blow and batter window panes.

 

Guided by the stillness in this

room he plucks the feather quill

from its rest and begins to write

of boyhood dreams and weeps

awhile dripping on his page his

father’s shame and arrogance

while the courtyard jester plays

the fool.

 

He claims his place within the

walls this night as darkness brings

all ghost’s to life dancing in the

dim light watching as he pens

with bloodied quill a journal

entry of family haunted by the

past while terror lurks between

his fortress walls and screams

echo from hell

 

This man of letters once accepted

and delighted now hangs his head

in shame like a wilted rose pressed

between the pages of lost forever

journals ragged and yellowed with

time and covered in witch’s dust.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore. All Rights Reserved

 

 

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more.

He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published.In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.
Vincent Moore

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Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more. He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published. In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.

8 thoughts on “Fortress Walls

  • October 3, 2018 at 3:56 PM
    Permalink

    Within those fortress walls….what heinous and sad walls hide such astounding things. I felt the anguish between the lines. Excellent piece my friend.

    Reply
    • October 4, 2018 at 3:12 PM
      Permalink

      Thank you Paul, the anguish afflicts us all from time to time. I wish it upon no one, yet it tends to cleanse one’s soul when released. Appreciate your comment my friend.

      Reply
  • October 4, 2018 at 2:14 AM
    Permalink

    So dark and shrouded by the weight of past and what keeps us up at night, trawling for reason. So nicely penned and particularly evoked Vincent. Those walls we all have to some extent, just to survive. great work my friend.

    Reply
    • October 4, 2018 at 3:15 PM
      Permalink

      Thank you as well Tony, I know you have afflictions of your own from time to time, you wouldn’t be the brilliant writer and poet without them. The past is a haunting one indeed for many of us, releasing the ghosts from them is a soul replenishing thing, especially for me dear poet.

      Reply
  • October 4, 2018 at 10:26 PM
    Permalink

    Intriguing and dark behind those fortress walls that bind us to the past. Very well penned and enjoyable read. Great work, Vincent. I enjoyed reading this dear friend. Take care.

    Reply
    • October 6, 2018 at 5:50 AM
      Permalink

      Thank you Phyllis, indeed we all have a past and some of us hide and suffer with them behind some type of wall, setting them free is important to our soul. I write from my soul and mostly deeply from my past experiences in this world. Appreciate your comment my friend.

      Reply
  • October 6, 2018 at 3:37 AM
    Permalink

    Once again I bow to the master of the written word. We all have walls and fortress even if no one can see them for they are within our own minds. Thank you Vincent for sharing.

    Reply
    • October 6, 2018 at 5:53 AM
      Permalink

      I’m far from a master, although I attempt to convey my feelings as I pen. Indeed Kurt for many of us they are from our very active minds, thankfully writers can release them with their pens or keyboards. My fortress has been built up over the many years I suffered as a teen in a fortress controlled by a demon. I released them by breaking down those walls, it took me many years to do so, but I’m set free now my dear friend and fellow expressive writer.

      Reply

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