She sees.......
            the inky shadow pooling under her door.
            the trembling of her knees under the
            comforting warmth of her blankets.
            the taut whiteness of her knuckles,
            clutching her nightshirt as if it were her only saviour, as

She hears.......
            her own ragged breathing as she pretends to sleep.
            the footsteps walking to her bed,
            inevitable as the day of judgement.
            the sealion sound as he smiles,
            reaching out a hand so

She feels.......
            the light touch on her face, running over
            the fountains of misery she can not contain.
            the house, a tomb of darkness and lost hope,
            lost dreams...

She tastes.......
            the metallic agony of twisted fear
            and revulsion.
            the screams she knows will flow
            one day. but not today.
            the hint of rebeliion, never qhashed,
            now trickling like the last rain of spring...

She smells.......
            the emptiness of her heart. her soul.
            the dust on the toys
            never used,
            gifts for a forbidden fruit
            wrenched without pity so long ago.

She knows...
            this is life.

She knows...
            these is no end.

She knows...
            that no one's listening.

Are you?
 
 

Copyright Josephine Yarham 1997