Spellbound 

Her lips, sealed by the witch’s thread and needle, 

Locking in what urges to scream from the insanity

Overflowing the cusp of her heart, drowning

In the cryptic silence, overly aware of the ripples

Surrounding her, inching it’s grasp closer, 

She shivers in the lasting echo of a fictitious howl

To doubt the cool wind that wants to carry her through,  

Disturbed by the offing that incarcerates her

In her very own mind, as she scurries to the corner

Hoping it’s tall curvy stature will cloak her,

Keeping paranoia as the pillow where she rests

While hiding from any light that shows its warmth, 

She slowly reaches out, slightly dipping the tip of her nail 

Into embrace, but quickly shrinks back into the collected 

Darkness, feeling comforted by the crawling fog,
Every serpent has found and taken from her garden

Closing her gates eternally, and banishing the luminous,

What can break the spell, that perches upon the cloud? 

What chance is there for the caged voice, to sing again?

Living the rest of her life, fearful of the word Love. 

©DorianPoe2016

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