Alone, frightened I sit in the attic of my mind

Trying to wipe the grabby cobwebs of my thoughts

I should have left so far behind

Musty smells and wet mold walking hand in hand

Devouring all that was good once good and kind

Shivered silence of the dust mite’s light

Allow no small comfort I can find

Destitute passages of long ago sins

Fill the cardboard boxes scattered about

My seaman’s trunk of luxuries bought

I cringe at their sight with nagging doubt

Who then will rescue heart and soul

From this mental prison fathomed cold

Who then will have and hold the golden key

Release me from the dungeon’s death grip cold

Nay perhaps I am doomed to wither here

Like autumn leaves beneath the snow

Disguised pain no longer visible, mayhap

to fertilize spring flowers when they grow