Notes About The Poem
I wrote this piece in my journal years ago, when I was in elementary school. I started writing at a young age. It was my way of escape and at the same time a release of what I saw and felt.
Needles of Darkness
Please open the door, it’s dark in here. “Go to your room,” the
The command hangs heavily.
Can I come downstairs now? The question met with silence, a
hollow echo.
Hungry, a plea lost in the suffocating air.
Be quiet! A hiss that chills deeper than the winter wind. Be still, a
demand that binds like rusted chains.
Wrapped eyes and hands, a sightless, touchless world. Can’t see,
can’t feel, adrift in a sea of fear.
The peel of a skinny branch, a cruel reminder. It bounces back, a
mockery of the sting it leaves.
Cold baths, the bite of water on chilled skin. Hand-me-down
clothes, a constant reminder of what’s missing.
Winter outside, a mirrored coldness within. The memories are
pushed to the back of the mind, but remains.
The needles from childhood are sharp and ever-present.
The door opens, and a sliver of light pierces the darkness.
But will it be enough to chase away the shadows?
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