Isolate Me
Sometimes, I do imagine what the world could be:
so much kinder, unexpected, and not a shadow
of grey to dissuade my steps and me.
But now, in this world I must confine.
I wonder about this place,
dream more than I can ever dream,
and haven’t prayed. I want to.
There’s so much pain,
death,
grey.
It’s more beyond my mind, this mentality inside,
and I want to share what’s inside my head.
There’s peace, happiness, and bliss for days.
And, it seems I can’t escape this reality.
The nightmares have seemed
to escape instead from this place,
once my head. I feel it.
There’s so much worry,
loss,
sad.
Sometimes is no longer a factor for me, because:
I do now long for spring, when there’s life
and green that births new lives, air, sanity. It’s
a long awaited, captivated dream.
I find myself wanting
so many things I gave up on,
or didn’t want before.
There’s so much silence
again,
then,
now.
Sometimes I read, write, compose something bigger
than me, and what I can be. I imagine all these
fantasies, and draw, and paint to know me.
'Cuz now I know this silence in place.
It isn’t just me facing
these nightmares, twisted reality.
There are no words
to speak,
say,
be.
Sometimes, the sun shines behind the curtain that
drapes across my bedroom window, and shines
beyond the sky filled with grey. It’s beauty
and warmth is something hoped for.
Sleep evades me more with
each passing day that I
have to face uncertainty.
For just once, please,
why is
this?
Me?
Sometimes, can I not have more than those?
There are no people on the streets,
no new strangers to meet, and everything
is gone in the grocery stores.
School isn’t what it’s
supposed to be. None
of this is. Reality?
There are no more dreams,
stories,
steps,
days.
Sometimes, I want to wake up and find and
hear those unspoken words from the many,
their histories, dreams, and stories. Anything.
But, now, I am safeguarded by a barricade.
If steps could carry me
across night and day,
I’d escape.
There would be no more
death and
virus.
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.