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The walls are thick. Dusty. Closed. I reached through the molasses of the voice I tried to carry to you, but found that the sound slipped through my fingers. I watched as the walls cried. I dropped to my knees and wondered when the pain would begin. Was my heart empty? Where were the angels I had hoped to find here? I listened and thought I understood, but again found an emptiness behind the wooden doors of my heart. Sometimes I heard knocking through the walls. I called out your name. I listened to my own voice in the silence. How long had I been here? The room I had carved out for myself was one of bone and blood and thundering tears; tears that crashed upon the dirt as if they themselves carried the weight of my soul with every pounding drop. And I waited here, in this place I carved out for myself, listening to my own hands digging at the dirt. Clawing at the walls. My own voice echoed back and sometimes I thought that I was another person and I had conversations with myself. Yet, as I looked into the mirrors surrounding me, I knew that I was myself. And I was here, in the dark, in the dust, in the faded image of my own mind. I called out your name. I called out my name. This, I did, until I could not feel anything. That which is nothing was my solace. And I hold it close to my chest. Though it still seeps through my fingers, and the sound echoed for eternity, I find comfort and peace in the walls that cry . . . in the walls that are closed to my screaming heart. I breathe in the dust that I have gathered for years. And I wonder . . . how from sadness and sorrow I have built a kingdom from which I protect myself from the sound of your name . . .

And here . . . the walls thick, dusty, and closed . . .

I cry.

I'll say it loud here by your grave / those angels can't
ever take my place
somewhere where the the orchids grow / I can't find those church bells
that played when you died - 'Playboy Mommy', Tori Amos

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The following comments are for "The Walls"
by Zebralicious

Deserving more eyeballs
This was really good and totally depressing, which it's supposed to be. You really captured the mood and the feeling of isolation brilliantly. Nicely done. The only constructive criticism I can offer is to replace some of the "carved-s" with synonyms like cut.

Otherwise, this was sweet.


( Posted by: Richard Dani [Member] On: April 17, 2002 )

Let me out of the box....

Now I have to admit I really liked this. After I first read it I thought well this deserves between an 8 and a 9 (so 8.5) but since I could not I decided to read it again. Guess what I liked it even better the second time, so I got pushed over the edge and gave this a 9. Wonderful work I will be looking for more of your stuff.


( Posted by: Drastine [Member] On: April 17, 2002 )

Rating and comments..
I enjoyed this very much, although I would not want to be within those walls. Also, I would like to thank you for your comments and rating on my story "The Secret". This story is in fact a true story and happened as it is written, unfortunately I could not find a Memoir area at this site. Also, I am sorry it has taken me so long to get back to you, but the site seems not to like my computer. Chris is working on finding a solution for me. So, thanks again. I appreciate it. Trish

( Posted by: Miss_Matrix [Member] On: April 17, 2002 )

tap, tap, tap, drip, drip, drip
Ah yes dear boy/girl(I hope I have not insulted you), how excruciatingly, decrepidly, nausiating. Wonderful, give me more. Dumb question, but have you ever been locked in a dark clammy room for an hour or so. Well, then give it a try. Thank you so much for your kind words on my poem. Hope to keep hearing from you.

( Posted by: praxidikai [Member] On: April 17, 2002 )

warm thoughts
Thanks for all the feedback people, and glad people are appreciating my reviews.

When I write, I come from two different places. The first place, I know where I am writing from and I head in and come out the other end and look back. Other times, I come out without realizing I had entered that space to begin with.

This poem was one of the latter places. I have never been in a box or a dark clammy room. But I have been in those places in my mind, and that's where this poem came from. We can sometmes find ourselves trapped in our own situation or psyche that can be as real as physical walls. That is the place I was in when I wrote this piece.

When I came out of it and looked back at what I wrote, I went "wow, I wrote that?"

That place is not a room I would want to visit very often, but I was glad for the insight it gave into myself.

Thanks again all. is turning out to be one of the most refreshing websites I have visted in a long time. Kudos to you all.

( Posted by: Zebralicious [Member] On: April 18, 2002 )

I like this poem a lot. It's sentimental, which usually ruins a poem for me but in this case it doesn't at all. I thought the imagery of the walls crying was very good.

( Posted by: Seanspacey [Member] On: April 19, 2002 )

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