Dwelling

photo credit: shallowend via photopin cc

photo credit: shallowend via photopin cc

There are no bars

yet,

I am contained.

Lift not my voice to Heaven

confident

Heaven hears my silence.

Sipping from turquoise mug

black, hot liquid-

re-heating  the same half cup

repeatedly,

I sit

quiet in your sight-

Does quietness rage silent?

My dwelling place

a prison

I have a window,

wander the rooms

accepting  my parameters.

Prisoners grow comfortable in painful places,

captive yet free

the bars cannot contain their suppressed rage…

it dies inside

fades to quiet acceptance.

I have faced my demons; am not afraid.

My lot in life…nothing.

My place…nowhere.

I have become nothing, for nothing.

Nothingness is my dwelling.

©Dawn Paoletta

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