Morsals of Madness

The White Room

The room itself was stark,
devoid of all feeling or personality
The sterile white walls bare but for a single painting
Within its frame a picture
Nothing fancy or particularly interesting
Just a mass of haphazard circles
A question mark placed at odd angles within their never ending lines.

In the far corner stood a tree of some kind
Neglected, gathering dust
The cobwebs intricately weaved within its leaves
Telling her its purpose was long since forgotten.

Needing to focus, her eyes moved slowly around the room
To her left a metal filing cabinet Its lock rusting
As were the lives encased Within the files kept for future reference.

To her right a water cooler
Half empty but still bubbling away
The plastic cups discarded thoughtlessly
Almost filling the waste paper basket beside it.

With nothing left to detract attention
The real reason she was here loomed in the darkness
She sheepishly looked ahead at the man behind the brown melamine desk
His aged face quizzing her every movement
His dark eyes fixed as he probed her every thought.

He sat, seemingly relaxed
Perfectly manicured hands entwined
Comfortably rested in front of his bearded face.

Time seemed to stop as he sat unmoving
Darkened eyes still watching
Waiting for a sign that he could begin…

That she was ready.

R.M Roberts ©2010

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Tales From A Life Best Forgotten

Truth

Sometimes degrees of love are all that’s left.
You wipe your tears
Brush your hair
Smile through tinted lips.

Behind the eyes
Not dead, but sleeping
Hope dwells in chains
Hungry for freedom.

Pride rises.
Refuses to accept
Admit that help is needed
Polite refusal your only recourse.

This barren life.
Love holds it together
Fighting the anger
The tsunami of despair.

Behind four walls
Safe from the questions
Safe from the truth
The air that suffocates.

The compliments of others
Kind but not needed
Your façade deceiving
But for how long
An eternity it seems.

The plight of others
Ignites the spirit
Rejuvenates forgotten promises.
We stand on corners
Us against the world.

But no one’s listening
Self- preservation
The mother of indifference
Sleep
Your only escape.

R.M Roberts ©2012

Tales From A Broken Society

End Game

Your words flow freely
The same blind mantra
Time and again
Empty
Soulless
Adopted ideals
Dressed up clumsily
In ill-conceived adjectives.
Punctuation
Dedication
Unnecessary as usual.

Where’s the thought?
The depth of feeling?
Has reality visited you?
Touched that frivolous,
contemptible soul?
Your prosaic notions
Far from prophetic
As you’d like us to believe.

A roll of the eyes
An itch on the thigh of the faithful
The reaction born as you try
to convince
Convert
Convince who?
Us?
Them?
Or maybe it’s you?
Drowning in delusions and self-belief.

Conversion unnecessary
We know who we are
Where we stand

Do you?

Smile at the camera
Fawn to the favourable
Your silence is all I crave
Yet still you speak.

Reah Roberts ©2012

Morsals of Madness

Timeweaver

It wasn’t long before she was there, that dark place, the world between where dreams are made and demons prowl, back in the room where it all began, back in the room that had taught her how to look inside herself and into the worlds beyond.
Yes, there she was, looking down on  her life and hardly recognising the girl she was before the ravages of time had taken their toll.

She watched intrigued as her younger self lay back in the chair, remembered how her eyes had felt so heavy , how the sleep that had evaded her for so long fought to take control.
She watched how she’d sat all those years ago, waiting, saying nothing, her feet dancing to some unknown tune while her mind wandered; the wounds beneath her bandaged arms still sore;the burning sensation as she’d scratched at the broken skin strangely soothing. How she wished she could go back.

It was then the clock on the mantle chimed once more, loud, furiously hypnotic.tick-tock, tick-tock it sang, time moving forwards, backwards, across time and away into the deepest darkest depths of her existence.
All around her the room began to crumble, collapsing in on itself as she struggled to concentrate, to keep control.

But it was no use, time was stripping back the years, the strength of a bond too strong to be broken forcing an old soul to reunite one final time with the scared little girl she’d left in that place all those years ago.

To become one again.

Reah Roberts ©2010