Poemetry by T.A. Barnhart


another day.
i’m held prisoner
in dank cells
of what was
and what wasn’t.
my fingers
caress the
throbbing stone
as it reminds me
of my guilt
of my failure
of my shame.
throw away the key!
i groan in triumph.
but there no bars,
just a light
shining dimly
from far-off windows,
lighting a face
that can’t stop regretting
all that will never happen
because i have become
one with the stones.
i hear whispers
down impenetrable hallways:
the walls aren’t real.
but i’m no fool.
stone does not evaporate.
the whispers do not argue;
they do not mock.
they breathe:
if i am careless,
the stone will evaporate
and i will plunge
into a place
i do not know:

©TA Barnhart October 10, 2020