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)
Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2024
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