Behind Closed Doors

This is a very old poem I made when I was 12 or 13. It was my first attempt at imagery and some metaphor.

Silence down empty halls,

broken only by the talk of the walls.

Memories flood,

coming through the dark waters.

They escape from barriers of the mind

that were put up so many years ago,

hoped to be forgotten,

but time is not that kind.

Anger and tears

were the only constant through the years

of torture and neglect,

till there was nothing left.

A battle for control

between father and child.

The father, monstrous and irate.

The child grown of fire and hate.

Within the walls of her mind,

she nurses her bruised heart.

On the outside she shows only her strength,

the fire her father hates.

A childhood,

shortened by blind, cruel fate.

A spirit

that refuses to break.

In these walls,

a battle of wills took place,

as large as the battle

between love and hate.

The child finally won.

Now she grows and plays.

She can fully enter into the light of the day.

So, while the memories escape,

she rids her mind of them

the only way

she ever knew how.

She sings them out,

joyous and loud.