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Tower in the Storm

He sits…

He sits in the tower.

The tower…

The tower designed to protect him.

To protect him…

To protect him from others.

From others…

From others who somehow don’t understand him or don’t need him.

Don’t need him…

Don’t need him – his anguish and his torment.

His torment…

His torment that is not only the storm without but the silence within.

The silence within…

The silence within that is accentuated by the whispers.

The whispers…

The whispers that are the thoughts and voices that flood his awareness.

His awareness…

His awareness that echoes with the whispers that haunt his being.

That haunt his being…

That haunt his being whole, being sane, being at peace, being whole.

Being whole…

Being whole is not possible in this – insanity’s prison, insanity’s tower.

Insanity’s tower…

Insanity’s tower designed to protect him and yet that which inevitably had imprisoned him.

Which inevitably had imprisoned him…

Which inevitably had imprisoned him long before he knew it, understood it. long before it was built.

It was built…

It was built by the hurt, the pain, the very haunting whispers and echoes of whispers that are the madness.

The madness…

The madness that surrounds him, haunts him, imprisons him, stalks him, consumes him and in which he sits.

He sits…

He sits an unwilling prisoner and yet somehow an unwilling escapee in the silent troubled isolation of his mind.

Silent troubled isolation of his mind…

The silent troubled isolation of his mind that echoes deafeningly, accusingly, maddeningly in haunting whispers.

In haunting whispers…

In haunting whispers he sits.

He sits.

© Kevin A. Deane – May 7th. 2011

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