Slow silence pours
Through lighted keyholes
Carved into closed locked doors
we press our empty eardrums
up against.
In echoing emptiness
white static whispers
enclose encompass our death
and reflects the grey ghosts of our breath.
Through holes in the rooftop
used to fall raindrops
which would splatter- shatter
on hard wooden floors.
But now only stale sunlight pours
floods fluidly
illuminates- disillusions
what was hidden before.
Opening itchy eyes
we see micrand red particles of rust.
Dangling suspended
on invisible strings
and we're breathing them in.
As the linings of our lungs turn black
And our arteries harden with plaque
from breathing in
secong-hand smoke
from my mother's ciggarettes
I remember,
I would climb carpeted steps
Just to escape them.
Playing hide and seek
during dull summer weeks
They never found me...
I'm still hiding...
Elizabeth Jordan Heinbuch
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lost-room-of-memory/
