Cottage with the Broken Window

Hello, do I know you?
I am lost; I can't find my way.
I was looking for the
fields of poppy. All
I found was  a blackened
field of snakes and lilies.
I went too far and I can't
find my way back.
Can you help me?

There is an abandoned
cottage. I see a white
vase full of crumbling red tulips.
The glass window is cracked.

Hello, will you look at me?
I am starting to panic. Where
am I? Look at me!
I'm yelling, screaming.
My eyes water with frustration,
I pull at my hair.
The veins in my temples are
bulging like a leech too
full of blood. Can you hear me? 

I am asking for help
but no one will speak to me.
Do you know the way out?
Are you even listening?

I see a swarm of faces. They have faces,
I think, but they are mere
figures in the distance.
I do not know them.
I think their mouths are moving.
I hear only the wind.
My own vocalizations are muted.
They have no voices,
and neither do I.

Nobody hears me; I do not hear them.
My voice is lost among a chorus.
Nobody is listening,
their backs turned, their ears covered.

I am nothing but a shadow.
Nobody notices, nobody cares.
I flitter about as the sun
comes and goes. I am convicted
of sorcery. A heretic shunned
by all. They demand the stake
be lit. They do not know me.
They do not know my story.
They do not care. They do  not hear me.

All that I have lived for, the name I have made,
will atrophize and wither away
like the wrinkled scarlet tulips
in the cottage with the broken window. 

The End

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