Buried deep within
The voice of a shoe walking along a dark hall
Candlelight upon my eye, hands flat against the table top
The frightened dove landing on a knee
Outside in the courtyard of a different world
Memories that only I can know of those prisoners from long ago
They are secrets of my heart
Chained like animals to indecision and fear
I know them only too well, by name I call them, their touch, their kiss of bloody lips
Yet, at night they turn to shadows and become strangers on some rainy street as I dream upon the oceanic stream
Tossed here and there, waiting for the rocks to awaken my day
Rising up to talk and walk among those who smile and wave me on
Passing like the dumb beast that I am, staggering toward the beginning of yet another dream
Down
Down
Buried deep within
tin hats 
After I read your work I often feel as if I’ve been haunted by spirits, some kind, some indifferent. They have a taste I cannot name, but it lingers.
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Hi A. Mole
We live in the age of isolation. Searching here and there for something of ourselves. I am no different. Duke
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I really like that image/sound, the voice of a shoe..
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