Tiny Histories (Poetry)

These walls hold tiny histories lived in secret
they groan and give a little with the coming night
exhale the flaking images like breath
cloudy in chill winter’s failing light.

For those unfortunates the years have folded in together
confined to a dim corner of a silent hive
thoughts are all they have for definition
the flicker pale that keeps the soul alive.

The weightless days skim past — wind ripples water
no words to write in diaries any more
the splintered mind’s forgot the road to reason
gone deep inside — locked safe behind the door.

Forgotten names tagged to the wrist or tombstone
old skin and bones tied to a bed or grave
wingless now the dream of sky long-shrivelled
the dark’s deleting — wiping — wave by wave.