The child inside.

I crucify
the child in me,
shun her in a scry root;
stone walls don't hear my cries;

inhabiting a box
the pensive death-maddening
a heart under the moon
maybe it would pick my bones

maybe an old death it outgrows.

© 2021 All Rights Reserved.

Written for the 5/31/2021 dVerse quadrille prompt.

41 thoughts on “The child inside.”

  1. Yes, curiously, the moon is strong enough to do that to one. But it will leave one more complete after shuffling things around. That moon is that powerful.
    Ha! Imagine. That’s what I saw in this poem. Loved. Thanks for sharing.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Your exploration of the child inside, within the confines of a ‘quadrille box’ is fascinating, Lucy, and such a unique response. A child should not have to carry ‘pensive death-maddening burdens’. I sense a kind of relief in the moon‘s curious bone-picking, a re-emergence into adulthood, perhaps.

    Liked by 2 people

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