Fugitive

[Delta40]

I lied to escape
the concrete walls
secreting wailing cries
and manic laughter.
Haunted by a faceless voice
announcing:
Doors closing
Level Six
Please mind the step
my green mile walk
eluded men in white coats
like I was as visible
as an old woman
pushing an empty tea trolley.
Meet me here
where nobody will know
The Exit Doors heralded
Freedom!
Normality!
Time in Slow Motion
I found sanctuary
in your arms.
Your strength,
your Coffee.
Manic laughter
In your old kitchen,
I felt the familial sagas
it must have witnessed
before facing my own
domestic crisis.
Wailing cries.
Then back to those
secreting concrete walls
oozing out their stench
to meet me.
But we both knew
I would never fit in
to a size twelve psychosis.

[Jeos]

Liked it... your poem fulfills two fundamental criteria (for me) of poetic quality: good pace and emotional impact.

[Bar22do]

Another poem, another success! So much suffering, too...

At this:

Time in Slow Motion
I found sanctuary
in your arms.
Your strength,
your Coffee.


you let me take a breath.

Those walking in circles, bound to listen to faceless voices, are often lonesome heroes facing unbearable realities, and whom the society stigmatizes...

Thanks for this poignant poem, Dear Delta (DD!)

[YesNo]

I liked how this ended, but I don't know what a "size twelve psychosis" is. Even assuming there is no special meaning to it, it was a nice ending.

[Bar22do]

It seems to me, YesNo, that it's an other allusion to freedom, to inability/refisam to fit to some outer criteria, though I might be wrong.

[paradoxical]

This was the best poem I've read on Lit Net in a long time. Welcome back, Delta.

[Delta40]

Thank you.

[MystyrMystyry]

Great lines in this one D! The theme's sad, but the Delta sparkle shines through like a diamond

[Delta40]

Thanks MM. I look for the sparkle with a flashlight sometimes!

[Jerrybaldy]

Various forms and levels of insanity feature heavily in your works. Conclusion > You are nuts. Simples. Of course before my colonial friend takes offence (as if!) I would point out that to be off your trolley, toys in the attic crazy and poetic is truely iconic.
Matron! Matron! Rivermouth needs her meds now. She is muttering about shellgrit.