Saturday, August 04, 2007

Private ghosts

Hidden, cloistered, barred, interred
within and without they strike roots.
Sometimes whispering, weeping, angry
accusing, pointing fingers, betrayed.
Screaming inside
when there's silence out there
like a mad screeching, shrieking echo
it resounds within,
clawing bit by bit,
scraping, bleeding,
stinging hot tears in pain, anger
and no understanding.
Of the mind
and its tentacles stretching out
going deep into things unseen,
unheard, unbelievable and unknown,
Walls all around
yet clanging beneath
the iron grills of time and actions.
Wheels grind past mercilessly
as private ghosts hold reign.