The Bottom

I often find myself looking back on brighter days,

eyes wide awake, dreaming of life on the water.

In school, I'd Write stories of being a River Pilot,

as if in a trance, oblivious to any Grade Given.

At first, words would only Whisper onto the page,

then I watched as those letters began to Multiply,

Inch by inch, the Lines taught my mind to expand.

It grew Bigger, until a false sense of freedom was born,

leaving me with a need to fulfill that urge to escape.

The greater the Height, the farther I would fall.

It wasn't long before the bottom was all I knew.

At night I cradled memories of a wasted youth,

Turned to God in search of answers with no Reply.

My voice remains lost, hidden behind Iron gates.

Funny how fine, how lovely life had once been.

The visits had stopped and they wrote only to say,

They feared for my Safety but mostly my sanity.

Now I listened as the air hung Silent, like a noose,

while I became desperate to Divide each sound,

that sweet childhood Rhyme, now a banshee wail,

that weaved in and out of every Brick, as my hands

stretched themselves over the cracks in the wall,

knowing that one of them must lead to salvation.