Ponder

Ponder, something I seem to do more often then not, these days. My thoughts kept wonder off visiting the inhabitants down Memory Lane, string up fights ‘n ripping of the bandage on the still healing wound, letting it get infected by the back stabbing next door neighbours. I build my hedges high, held my dogs close, yet the inhabitants of Memory Lane manage to get by my locked doors, in to the core of my house, crushing, burning, breaking, I hear it all from my cold hiding. I hear how the neighbours pond on the door, just above the stairs that will lead them to this cold and dark place. I shudder and shiver as the cold brush of air passes through the now broken door, down to my trembling form, tensing up as the stairs creak letting me know that they are getting closer, soon they will be here, right in front of me. They stare at my bruised body beneath the ragged cloths, trying to hide from their eye is to no use, they lit the room ‘n can now see everything, every scratch, bruise, scar… They all stare on what they all have done, my neighbours: the inhabitants of Memory Lane.

- March of 2009 -