Welcome to Echo House
The walls are voices
Screams of injustice
Cries of despair
Lost souls comprise
the halls
Come in
Have a bowl of empty
We choke on it every day
We have so much nothing
we are drowning in it
There is always room for more
Stay a while
Bring your shame
your disappointment
your hopelessness
We will nurture them
Leave your dignity
at the door
Should you keep it with you
be warned
The cat will hunt it down
and play with it like a mouse
until she grows bored
and kills it.
submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform
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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen
