leonardcohenforum.com

When I was young
I threw all of those
who bore sticks and stones
into a box
in a dark musty place
locked the door
from the outside
and left the bolt to rust in the rain.
And in there
they screamed loud
and in there
they cried for me
to recall from exile
their poor minds.
So when I was older
I returned with the means in hand
cracked the lock
and lifted the lid of the box
only to see
where an echo still lingered
the sticks, the stones, and the bones.

Wonderful resolve, Atom Heart . We all deal with childhood pain so differently. I like your way very much.

~ Lizzy

It's a dangerous way.
Very dangerous.

The key to the soul is often found through forced egress.

Hi Atom Heart ~

There's something I misunderstood in your poem, then .

~ Lizzy