Trap Doors


I am reminded of a place imperfect.

A setting of…’do not touch.’

Redemption songs on the radio…

unlit glory candles in shaded windows…

ill-mannered saviors on fabricated thrones.

Table scraps weak.100_1313

One way exits…wrong.

Just a cedar wall, splintered and used…I had never been that strong.

The voices…all…violently singing, ‘those were the days.’

Darker than dark.

Nights were ever so long.

Pastoral and enchanting…looking in.

Inside out, was I rummaging around trap doors with no key.

 

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