Thoughts
flew around like cannonballs in the empty spaces within his head,
thudding into
the walls that created the order; brick by brick that he had built,
tearing out
chunks of stone in some and leaving gaping cracks in others instead,
threatening the
precarious balance of sanity that seemed to be held up on stilts.
The only
outlet, the words he would have spoken; the feelings they expressed,
but there
was none around; no warm inviting, open glances he could even trust,
for miles
around all was desolate and barren; a silent graveyard that stretched,
where every
word spoken disappeared into the mist of silence and turned to dust.
And so the
demons that he had hid away carefully behind the walls broke through,
and roamed unchained
through the alleys of his mind leaving darkness in their wake,
forcing their
way to his conscious like bubbles rising on the surface of the swamp do,
their pungent
and cloying odor similar to the swamp gas; a thirst no drink could slake.
His eyes the
only sign of the raging battle inside; dark tunnels that led deep down,
to the fiery
volcano that burned within; fueled by the thousands of words unspoken,
riveted and
tacked down under layers of concrete constraints laid over time unknown,
that were
now steadily giving way; breaking loose and letting the lava flow unbidden.
Oh for that
luxury of the words that could be spoken; willingly sent into the open,
the satisfaction
of a thought expressed; an impulse given into whenever it occurred,
and the joy
of someone to share with; that could listen and maybe understand even,
the one that
could cast away his inner demons and maybe even heal his soul battered.
