my sock drawer is empty
scattered in the winds
they blow through
the windows of my soul...
so that's where they go
my wardrobe yawns at me
or maybe it snarls
distorted perception
or the silent screaming nightmare
hiding from view
just behind my eyelids
the children’s' chairs are empty,
devoid of all care,
apathetic, unresponsive, ambivalent.
No laughter is heard nor tears of intrigue.
The clock chimes a mournful chant of desperation
the nightstand looks at the sock drawer
and the drivel that it spews
snarls back at the wardrobe crying out
like the pansy it is
and vomits the pages of
an Anne Rice erotica novel in disgust
they all grieve for the clock and the lost children

© 2001 Shannon, Christine Schmidt and Mary Beth.
All rights reserved.

Artwork by © Mary Beth