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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Published by enthusiasticallydawn

Dawn Paoletta is a life enthusiast who loves to juggle words, chug coffee, and journal excessively. You can find her gathering stones on the beach most mornings. She enjoys hanging out with her hubby, daughter and family pets in Narragansett, RI and shares her passion, poetry and prose @Enthusiastically, Dawn.

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