Poem By My Son Trystan (+2)

No more

 

Mothballs and cedar assault my nose

The dust mites and stale air dry my throat

A wardrobe that is just that

 

The lion roars no more

Neutered and robbed of his fire

The last time the words were read

 

In the darkness of this cell I fear the witch no more

Drunk at her cauldron

Slurred words conjure no magic

 

Snow driven mountains of pure white

Have dissolved into a gray haze

Footprints like bread crumbs dissolved

 

My desperate escape blocked

Solid wood between me and salvation

My world made infinitely smaller

When the gateway to Narnia can no longer be imagined

— the magic dies