The Transatlantic Project

This is the first entry for the Transatlantic Project.

Kirstin set me the words Mildew, Metal and Dusty.

http://transatlanticproject.podbean.com/

This the poem:

The Box

I keep my heart in a metal box

Trapped behind a legion of locks

Trapped so long, the locks are rusty

The box is old, its surface dusty

Inside the organ beats but slow

Entombed by my grief an age ago

And yet its voice still haunts my sleep

Drawing me down to the dungeon deep

I wander the halls wrapped in slumber

My steps by thought unencumbered.

And there, through the thick stone wall

I hear its anguished beat, its frantic call

I claw at the stone, wear my fingers to shreds

Bash at the wall, using only my head

Rending the moss that grows on the wall

The mildew,the mould that covers it all

The ancient bricks shake, crumble away

My blows force them to crack, giving way.

Beyond lies a long forgotten room,

As still and silent as an ancient tomb

In the centre sits the thing I dread most

The box in its prison, chained to a post

The beat of its captive fills me with fear

I flee back to the house, my hands on my ears

My memory stirs, vivid and fresh

I remember her face, the scent of her flesh

I fall to my knees and claw at my face

Overcome by feelings I thought locked in place

Shaking, I stumble to the top of the tower

Betrayed by myself, at the darkest hour

There in the dark, under the moon's light

I recall the stranger who called that night

The bargain we struck as my love lay cold

To seal my guilt and loss until I was old

For the cost of my soul he would seal them away

Until the clarion call of judgement day

There at the edge, right on the drop

I shudder and shake, longing to stop

Two hundred years I have waited for death

To steal me away, to snuff out my breath

I can wait no more, I must have release

I step out into nothing. I know peace.