Weasels Laugh


 

The door’s locked,

The stone is tight

The key is turned

Still cracks of light

Seep through in shadows weird and strange

And voices call and thoughts derange

The peace and tranquil tomb around

My door, and entwine their fronds

Around my perfect peas carved space by space

Each pea perfect in its place

And shake my charnel house to life

And bone dust flecks fly to the light

With manic chuckles, taunting thoughts

Of bouncing peas and freedom paths

Away

but all stones neatly laid lead

To other doors with carvings strange

And names deciphered too late

To flee

And run back to the door you know

The door you bolted long ago

Against the cold, the laughing stoats.

The weasels got you by the throat

And paced the days out one by one

Until the chaos had begun

To trance you, lull you back to sleep

In sweet illusion of deep peace

And weeds entangled thoughts of theirs

In with your falling, shedding hairs

And tight their grip on hope and glee

With grips and prickles plain to see

Til pained you carve the dates and thoughts

Forget the freedom that you bought

And hug the earth towards you tight

And pack it closely as you might

So nothing more can fill the cracks

And minds cannot tell what they lack.

Footsteps fade from down the path,

The echo’s gone, and weasels laugh.

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