The first emotion is fear,
Not yours, well...maybe actually.
You'll taste its peppery musk on the tongue tip,

It coats the cracks in the sage green circular corridor,
inside this, a
Mental health institution.

(Three words that should never be best friends)

Sage, oh the irony.
A circular corridor ( designed for dementia patients)
Can you actually believe that?

Round, and round they go,
Searching for home, or,
A loved one, long dead,
To make sense of these layers of memory,
Their flaky pastry minds,
Still sweet, or today, as it goes, volcanic anger
Randomly noisy, aggressive, pitiful, tearful,...lonely.

It's not a forgiving place to spend contemplating life's unanswerable questions.
The walls multiply your fear.
Sit, awhile here, with me instead then,
We'll wait counsel from the sage walls,
And guess how long it takes the antler moth beating it's life force against the window,
To finally give up.

Poetry by Cowtrotter
Read 39 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2023-09-07 at 22:19

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Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
Your poem has been chosen to be featured on the home page of PoetBay. Thank you for posting on our poetry website!

jim The PoetBay support member heart!
I love when you write with this tone—it just smacks of truth and experience and cold reality.