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The Dungeon 

In the loneliness of this darkened room, a dungeon hides in the corner.
Built from the bricks of childhood pain, the chains stained with blood and water,
I stare toward the path of single despair like a rabbit that knows he’s for dinner.
That corner of dread is a hole in my head that never allows a winner.
Curled on the floor is my wandering shadow, looking like leaves of winter.
But only asleep, a Begonia in waiting for Spring to awaken, arise, unshaken,
I watch as my breath can shimmer its shape into symbols of wonder and archetypes of fate
Remembering that time has the power to wait and dreams of the future are never too late.
Rage is a fury that knocks down stuck doors, yet carries the seeds that can poison my shores.
When alone in my anger and I cannot do more, the grief in my tears that have circled my cage
Erupt and explode into torrents of rain, drenching the story that says I’m to blame
Till I stop at the gate to remember my name –
I am that I am - There is nothing more
I am that I am - Alone with an oar
I am that I am  - The will of my race
I am that I am  - With love in its place
I am that I am.

© 2012 Lisa Rafel

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