Poem By My Son Trystan

No more Mothballs and cedar assault my nose The dust mites and stale air dry my throat A wardrobe that is just that The lion roars no more Neutered and robbed of his fire The last time the words were read In the darkness of this cell I fear the witch no more Drunk at her cauldron Slurred words conjure no magic Snow driven mountains of pure white Have dissolved into a gray haze Footprints like bread crumbs dissolved My desperate escape blocked Solid wood between me and salvation My world made infinitely smaller - When the gateway to Narnia can no longer be imagined, the magic dies (Trystan Colin Behm- April, 2024)