Asylum (Poetry)

Behold — my self-built castle,
doorless, tall and grim,
old dragons doze in dungeons,
pet monsters well-walled in.

The rooms lined thick with secrets —
dust-filled books unread,
a spectre walks the ramparts,
shadows merge and spread.

Outside they camp their armies,
beseige my towered mind
beyond a moat of silence
unbridgeable, designed

to make them keep their distance,
impregnable these walls,
sly arrowed words can’t touch me,
I’m deaf to coaxing calls.

Their world rolls on without me,
its tumult barely heard,
a fading scar of colour
and memory’s a bird

that flutters in some corner —
a weightless, feathered thing
damaged during conflict
and dragging one dead wing.

My days are endless twilight
no sun can penetrate
clouds of black depression,
the mob swells at my gate.

Blind anger feeds off sorrow
and reinforces fear —
I’m prisoner and gaoler —
confusion rules in here.

I’m trapped in my own castle,
thin sticky threads of doubt
weave grey webs around me —
there’s no way in or out.