The Man With Windowless Eyes

Windowless is this world; in an empty dark stare.

Walls stark white; smooth to the touch, empty and bare.

An incandescent illumination hums a familiar tune.

Windowless walls; no recollections determine approaching noon.

Rubber feet shuffle and squeak in a hidden passage beyond.

Muffled voices rise and fall; the white silence becomes too bleak.

Sing songs gone wrong, white is the floor beneath his feet.

Bound not by ropes is he, but by chains around his fragile mind.

Windowless walls are all he sees, a white prison hewn out of the shadows of time.

Rubber feet shuffle; soft voices rise.

Then gone again are they, oblivious to the man with windowless eyes.

J. Allen Wilson © 1-2008